


Respect the Night

by FishSlayer



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Female Protagonist, Femslash, Major Original Character(s), POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, Slow Burn, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishSlayer/pseuds/FishSlayer
Summary: The Maiden Rhea and her retinue from the Church of Thorolund arrive in Lordran on a mission that will lead them directly into the depths of the Gravelord's Tomb. With the interference of an odd Undead Knight from the East, they begin to unearth certain unpleasant revelations concerning the Faith, all while doing what they can to stave off the Darksign's curse, battle their vices, and retain their sanity.





	1. Azur I

_I saw_  
_I saw monsters_  
_And I_  
_And I started to dig within_  
_When I_  
_When I turn my back on them_  
_They devour me_

* * *

  
Beyond the fog gate in the Lower Undead Burg, a towering demon with the head of a skeletal, four-eyed goat let loose a final unholy scream as Azur plunged her scimitar through the base of its lower jaw. Taking no chances, she tore it free immediately and took several paces back to watch the demon fall.  
  
The Capra demon had been unrelenting, and its hounds ferocious. In combination, they were enough to immediately destroy most undead who stepped through the fog and engaged it unprepared. The small, enclosed room one was forced to contend with them in was ideal for the demon and its hounds to mete out punishment on those who entered.  
  


Neither, however, had managed to present quite enough of a challenge to slay the young knight and force her consciousness (followed by her reanimated corpse) back to the bonfire.

  
For a drawn-out, silent moment, Azur replayed the battle in her mind. She remembered the wind rushing close (too close) to her from the wild swing of the demon’s savage, oversized machetes, the sharp clamp of the hounds’ teeth on her mail. Arrows, her own, piercing the hounds’ dead eyes and their half-rotten skulls, their dark blood oozing from the wounds as they twitched lifelessly, _satisfyingly_ on the grass. Her blade slicing cruel arcs through the Capra demon’s hardened flesh as it grunted and shrieked agonizingly in the ancient tongue of Izalith, savoring the feel of the point of her sword pushing through the exoskeleton of the beast’s goat-like head as it crunched sickeningly through the meat inside and exited the opposite end; the stink of fresh blood filling her lungs as she inhaled deeply.  
  
Azur abruptly halted her thoughts. Though they disturbed her conscious self immensely, she was accustomed to dealing with odd, often violent musings. Even before she'd been cursed.

_The creature set a trap. I defended myself. That is all._ She justified, attempting to soothe the part of herself that didn't condone her gratuitous, bloodthirsty enjoyment.  
  
It worked well enough.   
  
Sighing through her nose, Azur knelt and picked up the items her effort had awarded her. An iron key, and an enchanted bone fragment. Gripping the piece of bone in a mailed fist, Azur brought it close to her forehead to help her focus. She allowed her mind to drift with its pull, _towards home,_ she thought, until a shrill (but not unpleasant) noise and the white glow of the circle that appeared around her engulfed her senses.  
  
  
Quickly enough, Azur materialized once again in Firelink Shrine, the effective hub of every relevant location in Lordran. Or perhaps, the once-proud, ancient Archtree standing solemnly nearby was the true center of Lordran.   
  
_It is near the same height as the one in Sepri,_ she recalled. Even in the tumultuous Eastern lands, the legend detailing the emergence of the Age of Fire and the disparity had widespread credence, and had been a part of her upbringing. Azur understood the significance of the great Archtrees.  
  
She was greeted immediately by a familiar face across the stone-rimmed circle of land, undoubtedly once a tower belonging to the old structure which enshrined the bonfire, seated in his usual place. He never seemed to move a single step from that spot.  
  
“You again?” The clean shaven, brown-haired man in mail whom Azur had mentally entitled ‘the Crestfallen Warrior’, gave her a melancholy grin. “Something happen? Get a bit of a scare out there? That was rather quick.”  
  
Azur gave him a knowing look, but softened it with a small grin. “What happened while I was away?”

She began pulling off her plated mail hauberk in order to inspect it. The demon’s great machete had nicked her left pauldron and its hounds had bitten at her vambraces and mail (a few rings near the edges had come loose), but there was fortunately no significant damage. She was grateful to Andre for reinforcing it and confident in his skill as a smith, so she would return to his forge to repair it before her next outing.  
  
“Well…” The man furrowed his brows thoughtfully for a moment. “...There’s nothing to talk about, really.”

Azur grunted in acknowledgment as she went about putting her armor back on over padded jacket and loose trousers. Because of the lack of desert in Lordran, Azur decided to layer her armor and outer clothing slightly differently. There was no sand to keep from getting inside her mail or helm, so she had wrapped her headscarf around her shoulders instead.

  
Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Oh, actually...Something strange did happen.” He smiled slyly and pointed at the enormous raven perched in the ruins just beyond. “That crow flew in with somebody in its clutches. I think it was a man curled up in a ball. He appeared to be bald...” At Azur’s squinty-eyed, raised brow, the warrior laughed in that resigned way of his. “Stranger things have happened, right?” Azur continued squinting judgementally. He raised his hands and shrugged, “No, maybe not…”  
  
Uttering a short, tired laugh, Azur slung her round steel shield onto her back and began making her way up the steps on the far right into the ruins. She shifted her helm under arm and brushed strands of wild, dark hair out of her eyes. “I will return.”

In a relatively large, open room filled with tall clay jars just before the lift that led into the Church, the large cleric from Thorolund’s Way of White called Petrus stood in his usual place near the wall.

_Still waiting,_ Azur assumed. She had met cleric knights and maidens from the church in her homeland before, and though some of their beliefs were very much in contention with her own, she found many of them considerate and well-intentioned, and not altogether different from her own people. _Aside from their strange priorities..._

Petrus himself had always been well-mannered and kind enough, but there was something very odd about him. Something that made Azur want to toss him off a cliff after giving him a few good stabs and wash her hands thoroughly afterwards.

_This is the land of the cursed. There is something ‘odd’ about every person I come across._ She dismissed her concerns, but remained wary. 

  
Azur gave him a tentative wave. He seemed to startle at her appearance, as if he had been deep in thought. “Oh! Hello. I’m sorry, I was just…rather preoccupied.” Petrus cleared his throat and relaxed his posture a bit. The look on his long, round face was always situationally appropriate, but his blue eyes were carefully guarded. Distanced, though observant. “Have you changed your mind? I can teach you miracles, if so.”  
  
“I am afraid not.” She had been offered the same thing, before she was branded by the curse. “It is not likely to happen any time soon, but I thank you.”

Unwilling to continue to remain in his presence overmuch, Azur started toward the next flight of stairs, raising a hand in farewell as she went.  
  
  
The brief trek to the Undead Parish was simple as always.

Not a single invader entered her world in search of humanity. The Balder knights near the front entrance of the Church were entirely deaf, as always, and Azur laid waste to the three hollow soldiers in the courtyard of the side entrance with casual ease.

Descending the stairwell leading into Andre’s smithy had proven to be the most difficult part of the trip. _I imagine it does well to deter the less intelligent hollows, but I doubt it helps attract many heavily armored patrons,_ she thought with slight irritation as she set foot on the final floor.

Azur couldn’t help but imagine a curious hollow wandering too clumsily toward the stairwell, tripping and violently flopping down them to the bottom. She smiled humorously to herself and pictured its dim-witted friend waddling after it, only to find its footing was as stable as the first’s. They would pile up, groaning and trying to untangle in the uncoordinated fashion of many hollows, and Andre would stand from his seat in front of the anvil. He would make his way to them, smash their heads in with brutal, painful strikes of his hammer, and drag their corpses out of the building. Perhaps he would cut the meat from their bones, leaving it in wet, gnarled piles for the hounds to devour, and feed their skeletons to the bonfire.  
  
Azur felt the smile drop from her face and her stomach plunge. _These thoughts have slowly worsened since I set foot in Lordran._ Her fists clenched, _They are not me,_ she reminded herself.  
  
  
For the first time, Andre of Astora was not smashing away at a blade in order to shape it, or in the midst of one step or another in the process of forging a sword, spear or axe head when Azur came in. The smith looked up at her with warmth in his eyes as she approached.

“Well, well. Hello again. Somethin’ you need?”

  
“Some minor repairs, that is all.” Azur removed the damaged articles of armor with practiced ease and handed them to him. He took a few short seconds to look over each before starting his work on them. Silence followed for a short moment.  
  
“You look troubled.” Andre stated without a single pause in his work. Azur furrowed her brow at his observation and wondered if she was normally so easy to read (she knew she wasn’t), or if Andre was simply blessed with sharp observational skills.

She hesitated a moment. _He is Astoran, but the Way of White has spread its branches there as well._  
  
“What do you know of Thorolund’s sending undead clerics and Church members to this land on ‘holy’ missions?” She bluntly inquired.  
  
Andre stopped to hand Azur her newly repaired pauldron and raised a brow before grabbing one of her gauntlets.

“I know very little of the Way of White, but I can see why you’d find that suspicious. Their treatment of the undead has never been particularly...glowing.” He gave her a grin, and when Azur returned it with an exaggerated sneer he laughed.

“Their famous prayer, I’m sure you’ve heard it, ‘Vereor Nox’...Well, it explains a lot of their behavior. The Church was in charge of all those savage hunting parties searching for anyone bearing the darksign to toss into caged wagons and haul off to the Asylums. They built those Asylums, too, you know.”  
  
Azur frowned. _The clerics and maidens they sent my lord said that prayer,_ she remembered, _before the hunt,_ _and again after my first death._  
  
Andre handed her one of her greaves. “What is the meaning of ‘Vereor Nox’?” She struggled slightly with the pronunciation. Though she was fluent in the most prominent language of the West, Azur’s own native tongue did not branch from the same roots.  
  
“Oh, right. It means, ‘Fear the dark’, or somethin’ like that.” Andre’s thick, grey brows furrowed. “Guess that means it’s acceptable to run around murdering and imprisoning Undead whether they’re still sane or not. Long as they aren't part of the Church, anyway. When an Undead appears in their midst, they send ‘em here to Lordran, instead, and it doesn’t seem like they have any say in the matter.”  
  
Azur’s face darkened. The surviving maidens and clerics she’d met in her province had gently urged her to ‘make pilgrimage to the land of ancient lords’, after she had first risen. _Was their passivity a ruse? What is their true purpose?_

The room filled with the sound of Andre’s work a while longer, and when he handed Azur the final piece of fully repaired armor, he said, “I suppose that doesn’t quite tell you much about what this mission of theirs is.”  
  
Azur buckled on the vambrace. “It is more than I knew before I came here. And now I must be returning to the shrine. Thank you, as always.”  
  
Andre nodded to her with a broad grin. “I’ll be seeing you then. Be careful out there. And come back when you’ve gotten yourself beat up again!”

Azur gave him a loud, long-suffering sigh as she ascended the steps.  
  
  
When she arrived at the Shrine, Petrus was missing. Azur thought it strange, considering he had never moved from that room before as far as she had known, and because he was waiting for a group of great importance from the Church. _Perhaps he is taking a piss,_ she thought, _or praying elsewhere_.  
  
Azur had almost begun taking her first steps toward the bonfire when she picked up on hushed voices, seeming to emanate from just beyond the far wall of the room, and froze. She considered the layout of Firelink Shrine, recalling an open area, not easily accessible and rather hidden away from the average traveler passing through, which was beyond that same wall. The windows just across as one got off the lift would give her a view, and allow her to eavesdrop more easily.  
  
Taking soft, slow steps so as not to allow her armor to rattle, Azur quietly made her way there and crouched beside a window.  
  
“...the way we always do. It’s fine, we’ve been through this plenty of times before, always goes without a hitch. Nothing’ll go wrong this time either. You've got nothing to worry yourself over!”  
  
The first voice was slimey and subtly patronizing, though perhaps not as subtle as the man who it belonged to hoped.  
  
“You know as well as I there was a time you hadn’t been thorough enough. I need to be sure you will take care to _finish_ the job entirely. I cannot have news or evidence of any failings on my part reaching the Church.” That voice, Azur knew.  
  
“Yea, yea, I’ve got it, I really do mate. _No_ problem.”

Azur chanced a peek through the window, into the enclosed yard below. Petrus was having the secretive discussion with a bald man dressed in leathers, who was grinning sardonically and leaning casually against a wall along with what she assumed were his greatshield and winged spear.

“You had better. You wouldn’t want to risk your generous cut of the spoils, would you? Now, those young fools will be here any moment. I will set out with them tomorrow morning, and I expect you to be prepared.”

The bald man nodded, sly smile never dropping as he left first, heading out into the graveyard with spear and greatshield in hand. Petrus stayed behind, likely not to appear too suspicious should anyone observe them emerging from their hiding place.

Azur frowned grimly. _I wasn’t wrong after all. He and that bald man plan to do something vile._

Standing tall, she strode purposefully into the room full of large clay jars Petrus normally waited in, resting her left hand on the pommel of her sheathed scimitar. She was not fond of the idea of treacherous squatters skulking around in the shrine pretending to be her ally.

Petrus turned the corner and walked through the stone doorway, surprise lighting his features as he came to a sudden halt.

“What-that was...are you in need of something?” He cleared his throat, softening his expression to match his startled but curious tone. 

_If only it were genuine._ Azur narrowed her eyes dangerously.

“I overheard much of your conversation just now.” _Will you explain it away, or prove me correct?_ She began walking towards Petrus, who couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted to flee or defend himself.

“That bald man, who is he?”

Something seemed to click in Petrus’s mind, because suddenly he stopped fidgeting and his face darkened.

_Now the wolf reveals himself,_ Azur watched him keenly, taking note of his every move.

“You heard, did you? How very unfortunate.”

Petrus swiftly lunged forward, his cruel morning star swinging diagonally toward Azur’s unarmored head. He didn’t seem to expect her to close in on him in the same moment, her left hand angling inside of his attacking limb and gripping his plated forearm, holding the mace away from her. Azur gripped the back of his neck with her other hand and used his momentum to spin him into the wall with a metallic crash as steel met worn stone.

She crashed her forehead into his nose, breaking it and dazing him, before gliding her left hand to just below the spiked ball of the mace, twisting it easily from his grip with superior leverage and strength. As she tossed his weapon across the room, Petrus raised his left arm and struck Azur’s side heavily with the edge of his shield, and she grunted painfully as she released him.

Desperately, Petrus stumbled away from her and into a jar before gripping the sides and shoving the thing roughly toward his assailant. Before it could strike her, Azur smashed a forearm through it and charged Petrus, tackling him through several other jars and bringing him to the ground.

She positioned her knees on top of his arms, finally drawing a dagger and pressing the edge across Petrus’s throat. _I wonder if it would matter at all if I were to slash it right now…_ He growled angrily through the blood running from his nose, but it went ignored.  
  
“Are you Undead?” Azur leaned in, her expression stoney and eyes cold as she pushed the sharp blade harder into Petrus’s flesh.

“Because if you do not share your plan with me, this will be very difficult to come back from.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics at the beginning are from Gojira's fantastic song, "Where Dragons Dwell".
> 
> The idea for this fic started forming for a stupid reason, something I found hilarious in-game, but then I found a theory (which actually looks to me like the closest to the canon as could be, considering how well-researched it is) involving the Way of White and the way it functions, it's hand in the fate of Lordran and surrounding countries, and decided it was something I needed to write about. 
> 
> Obviously liberties are taken as far as anything unknown about the Eastern Lands (which is a lot), and I created a province or two that isn't actually canon (not that they're well-rounded in any way yet). Most people in the fandom seem to think the entire east is made only of cultures based on Japan/China/Korea etc., but I tend to think the east is full of other cultures as well. Azur's is supposed to sort of loosely be "Middle-Eastern", in a broad-ish, mixed, fantasy way (if I write something particularly offensive please let me know). I also designed her armor (heavily historically based), because I'm a fiend for arms/armor. When the drawing is done I will link. 
> 
> Hope you people enjoy.


	2. Rhea I

_Now we walk on leathered skin to freedom_  
_With each step I crack and stretch and each breath is a sting to my chest_  
_My God, will this push bring purity or…_  
_Bring out the dead, Bring out the dead!_  
_They’re climbing, they’re climbing through soil and earth_

* * *

  
The journey from Thorolund to Lordran’s Firelink Shrine felt longer, more wearisome than it truly had been.

Rhea was bone-tired by the time she, Vince, and Nico arrived at the old Parish in late midday. The kindly Astoran blacksmith by the name of Andre allowed them to rest in the building while he repaired Vince and Nico’s lightly damaged armor in return for souls; they hadn’t run into too much trouble on the road, thank the gods.  
  
Rhea waited, seated beside the bonfire on the floor just above Andre’s smithy, alone with her thoughts. Vince made friendly conversation with the blacksmith, Nico throwing gruff sounds of agreement here and there as Andre fixed their arms and armor.

_I’m glad for them,_ she thought, _they are still able to see levity even as we are on the verge of plunging into darkness._ As sincere as she was in her heart, the feeling was tinged with bitterness, and it roused an unfamiliar emotion. Rhea could not truly be certain it even _was_ an emotion. It was almost like a separate entity, black and torrid, crawling from the pit of her stomach, its fingers raking up the inside of her throat and leaving searing marks in their wake. One day she feared it would fully emerge from within, and swallow her whole. It terrified her, but she’d quickly learned to push it down and crush it beneath her faith and her mission.  
  
The spectral flames before her twisted and flickered calmly, and Rhea ignored the slow-burning skeletons piled below it, instead reveling in the soothing warmth it provided. It quieted her mind for a surprising length of time, tracking the paths and patterns in the fire and even catching images of ephemeral beings within. Eventually, her mind began to wander.

_Father…_  
  
Heavy footsteps broke her from her thoughts before they could slip further into dark places.

“Alright, all set to meet our guide at the shrine, my lady?” Rhea turned her head to look at Vince, Nico only a few steps behind him. Vince seemed in good cheer, but Nico’s eyes were covered in shadow beneath the rim of his helm, his mouth set in a line of grim acceptance.

As she stood, she looked tiredly back into the bonfire. “I am.”  
  
As it happened, their path was clear of enemies. Someone had come through before them (recently, by the looks of it) and had slain the three armed hollows just outside the side entrance of the church. Their corpses lay strewn about the courtyard carelessly.

“Well, that was rather kind of him!” Vince laughed as they crossed the sanctuary and stepped into the lift. He was clearly very amused by their stroke of good fortune.  
  
“Do you think it might have been Petrus?” Vince speculated, stepping off of the lift. Rhea walked out after him, Nico taking up the rear.

There was a muffled sound, she thought, that had emanated desperately from further inside the shrine for just a moment following Vince’s comment. Unconsciously, Rhea clenched her fists and shrunk in toward herself, her eyes searched the doorway Vince walked casually through.

“We’ll have to thank him, if it was. It certainly made my job easier!” He laughed.

Nico gave Rhea a questioning look, and she opened her mouth to stop Vince from strolling into the building completely obliviously before she was cut off by Vince’s sudden gasp.

Rhea and Nico rushed to aid him, halting when they had come to his side. The three of them had stepped into a larger room filled with human-sized clay jars. _This is where we are meant to meet Petrus,_ Rhea absently thought. A spiked mace lay on one side of the room, and a rather foreign-looking helm near the doorway they entered through.

“W-What are you doing?! Who are you?!” Vince shouted toward the doorway to their left, shield raised defensively. Rhea stepped out just enough to peek from behind him.

  
Their guide, a large cleric warrior named Petrus, was sprawled on the floor and completely disarmed. Blood had streamed down the lower half of his face, and his nose was bent at an odd angle. He was gripping the edges of the doorway, arms braced and pushing away from it frantically.

Just on the opposite side of the door, an armored figure stood with arms wrapped around Petrus’s legs, pulling him outside. It appeared to be a woman standing at perhaps Nico’s height, the dusky skin of her face marred by the occasional scar. Her eyes were a light shade of brown, and her short, wild hair black as night. Though she wore a coat of dark, plated mail decorated with simple bronze designs, she appeared to have a more muscular build than most women. A deep purple scarf was wrapped about her shoulders, one tattered end hanging down her back, and a curved blade sheathed at her side.

 

The armored woman met her eyes briefly before snapping her attention to Vince’s face. Her expression was rather stoic.

“Hello,” she greeted. Petrus kicked at her, and she tightened her grip on his legs. “Um. I can explain.”

  
And chaos broke out.  
  
“THIS WOMAN ATTACKED ME! SHE IS AN ENEMY OF THE _CHURCH_ AND THE HOUSE OF _THOROLUND_! HELP ME!” Petrus finally screamed furiously, prompting Vince and Nico into action. They charged the door, only to stop abruptly beside Petrus’s head, confusedly trying to thrust their weapons (a flanged mace for Vince, a crescent axe for Nico) through the opening above their guide. The woman yanked Petrus’s legs up, parrying the offending weapons away from her with them, and Petrus shouted and kicked angrily. Vince was visibly frustrated.  
  
“Curses! What the devil’s wrong with you?!” Vince stomped. The dark woman simply glanced at him and raised a brow before abruptly dropping Petrus and darting away.

Nico grabbed Petrus under the arms and dragged him away from the doorway while Vince gave chase. Giving Petrus a cursory look to check for other injuries, Nico nodded and proceeded to take off after Vince and the strange easterner, Rhea staying rooted in her place just inside the doorway they’d entered in.  
  
Rhea took a moment to absorb what had happened while Petrus caught his breath. The clanking of Vince and Nico’s armor and the heavy thud of their boots could be heard in the distance, outside of the enclosed room. _But I cannot hear that woman at all…_ It was disquieting, to say the least.  
  
Petrus had dug his talisman out of a pouch on his belt, quickly using a healing miracle before sighing and standing to collect his shield and morning star. Once that was done, he gave Rhea an apologetic smile and strode out the door after the others.  
  
_Petrus does seem more experienced than any of us,_ Rhea observed, _Despite the rather strange circumstances of our meeting. Or perhaps, because of them?_ She took a deep breath through her nose. _Regardless, he shall have to explain who that woman was...she didn’t appear to be hollow, not nearly._

Before she could even begin to ruminate on those subjects, Rhea felt a mailed hand cover her mouth and was jerked back through the door almost before she realized what had happened. She kicked and squirmed and fought, until she heard the easterner’s voice just above and behind her ear.  
  
“Apologies. My name is Azur, of Sepri. Would you give me a moment to explain myself?” She asked Rhea, who was surprised at it’s gentleness. “I doubt either of your friends would allow me the chance.”

_This woman attacked our guide,_ Rhea reminded herself, _Gods know what she would have done with him if we hadn’t arrived when we had._ She shouted, though it was muffled behind her captor’s hand, and resumed squirming and pulling at said hand with all of her might. The woman grunted unhappily and brought Rhea to the wall, meeting her eyes with an earnest expression.

“Then I will leave you with this,” she quietly warned, “That man Petrus plots to betray you. And he does not plan on doing so alone.” Rhea froze in astonishment, and Azur’s grip loosened. “Where does your mission take you?” She inquired curiously, almost letting go of Rhea entirely.

 

Rhea was suddenly quite uncertain of that very mission, utterly confused at who to trust, and fearful for her own safety. Without entirely knowing what she was doing, she grabbed Azur’s hand and yanked it away from her face, “Why must you easterners be so brutish and VIOLENT!” She screamed angrily, balling her gloved hands into fists and smashing one of them into Azur’s cheek. Clearly surprised, Azur stumbled a step back, and Rhea glared bravely at her, brandishing her talisman.

At least two exclamations of “My lady!” sounded from just outside, and three pairs of heavy footsteps began making their way toward them. Azur stared at Rhea a moment longer, then gave her a small, impressed grin and rubbed her cheek, turning and swiftly striding into the lift.  
  
While Rhea calmed herself and tried to figure out whether it was Azur’s culture, her Undeath, or some mental affliction that caused her to act so strangely, the cleric warrior trio burst through the doorway in quick succession, shields and weapons raised.

Vince and Nico, after giving Rhea quick glances to be sure she wasn’t about to die, ran to the lift only to stop abruptly once there and wait for the platform to reach them. Vince practically buzzed with impatient energy, Rhea could imagine him hopping and running about like an angry puppy. Nico glanced at him and gave his breastplate a quick slap, which made Vince jump in surprise. _Sometimes, it’s as if they’re still children._  
  
Petrus had instead turned to her, his face etched deeply with concern and shame. “My lady, my humblest apologies for causing you to experience that... _mad_ ruffian’s antics. Are you alright?”  
  
Rhea silently searched his face. As far as she could tell, there was nothing to indicate Petrus was being disingenuous in any way. _If he is lying, he is the most skillful deceiver I have ever encountered._

“Yes,” she answered, not bothering to force a smile, “I am perfectly alright, Petrus.” His answering grin lit up the entirety of his long, round face, and his deep blue eyes sparkled happily.  
  
“Very good. I would absolutely abhor myself if anything were to happen to you, my lady.”

 

One more fruitless chase after the elusive eastern knight had Vince and Nico begrudgingly trudging back into Firelink with exhausted expressions on their faces. “I don’t understand how she does it! Running off and simply _vanishing_ on us, every time…” Vince pouted, “And wearing armor, too!”  
  
Petrus bent to retrieve Azur’s fallen helmet, “That woman has explored the Burg and much of the area surrounding this Shrine thoroughly.” He turned to smile patronizingly at Vince. “That, and she has proven quite clever and resilient. I would have been surprised if she had _not_ been able to outrun and outmaneuver you.” While Nico’s features smoothed, wounded pride soothed with the explanation, Vince only seemed to sulk further.  
  
Just as Rhea opened her mouth to begin questioning Petrus as to why Azur had attacked him to begin with, he proposed they all eat and rest before they set out. Being Undead did not exempt one from any of the normal bodily functions or necessities, aside from permanent death, of course. As soon as he suggested that however, Petrus excused himself, taking only his morning star and Azur’s steel helm. Why he would need her helm while he went to relieve himself escaped Rhea completely. _I shouldn’t pry. There are more urgent things to consider._  
  
“My lady,” Vince approached her, “Here, I know stale bread and dried meat isn’t the sort of meal you’d prefer, but we’ve split up the rest of those berries we found!” He handed her a cloth-wrapped bundle of food, grinning sheepishly.

Rhea couldn’t hold back a smile of her own, “Thank you, Vince.”

  
Rhea led them in a brief prayer of thanks before they ate together in comfortable silence. Any conversation between them was light and casual, none of them seemed willing to dwell on the mission that would soon take them into the depths of the Gravelord’s tomb.  
  
When Petrus rejoined them, he took a place in their circle and seated himself with a friendly nod toward each of them. He produced his own rations and ate far more slowly than either Vince or Nico, pacing himself wisely.

_Why does he seem familiar?_ Rhea dug around in her mind, trying to place what it was she recognized about Petrus. Was it just his sharing her country of origin?

  
Only when Petrus turned to look at her, a warm smile coming easily to his round face, did Rhea realize she had been staring at him.

“Oh,” she said, a little startled, “I’m sorry. I was simply curious about why you had taken that easterner’s helm with you when you went to...relieve yourself.” She suddenly realized he had not brought it back when he returned.

  
Petrus’s smile fell, and his gaze dropped to the dirt. “I realize we will not be staying in the Shrine for much longer, but...that woman’s helm was a reminder of the violence she visited upon me. And of...the state our cursed world is in. I had once believed her to be a friend.” He looked her in the face and gave her a small, sympathetic smile, “I am positive you understand, my lady.”  
  
_How could I not?_ Rhea gave him a soft nod and her gaze dropped away from him. _And yet, the worst is still before us. I must not allow the dark to consume me._

 

She stared at the remnants of her meal for a brief moment before wrapping it again and standing. The men looked up at her questioningly. “I must go and pray, but I shall return.”

Vince scrambled to his feet, hurriedly swallowing an uncomfortably large mouthful with a pained wince, “I'll accompany you, my lady. Can't be going anywhere alone in these parts.”

Rhea bowed her head silently beneath her hood, and the pair made their way quietly into a neighboring room.

  
A very good portion of the chamber was covered in shin-high water, but was dry at the edges and the far end before the statue of a lady. A child lay in her arms, but the stone was worn and covered in bits of moss, much like the rest of the structure. Rhea couldn't quite tell who it was, but she knew it wasn't the mother goddess. She apologized quietly to Vince and started back out the door.

 

“We can go into the Church for a bit if you like.” Vince suggested. Rhea shook her head, _Not after what happened earlier,_ and led them into the room of tall jars.

“This will do. Thank you, Vince.” He nodded and turned to stand guard and give her privacy.

 

Rhea turned to face the wall and knelt, hands clasped and head bowed. She thought of her home. Of her father. Of the small, black circle burning slowly on her shoulder that marked her as one who was cursed.

 

And all at once, she pushed them away to speak to the gods. She flushed out her mind and focused on her faith, her hope for redemption, and for Nico and Vince’s too.

 

_Vereor nox._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics at the beginning are from Oh, Sleeper's "Commissioned By Kings".


	3. Solaire I

 

The Depths were about what Solaire expected. Dark, dank, and excessively slimy. So much so that some of it amassed into living, gelatinous mounds full of dangerous spikes that dragged themselves across stone floors and skated through shallow water. Despite that, it was the dark that bothered him most. But he did not let that slow him.

He noticed, while he kicked aside one giant undead rat, that his boots were covered in a thick layer of clumpy sludge. _Oh my,_ he thought, _I wonder if that will ever come out. It's a shame there isn't a miracle for cleansing articles of clothing._ He chuckled to himself and made his way through the narrow tunnels and tight corners of the old sewer.

Despite its rather confused, maze-like structure, the Depths were still small enough to be easily navigated through. Nothing within was overly threatening, _aside from those damnable basilisks,_ and so the only things to truly be wary of were pitfalls and invaders. Occasionally there was a particularly large rat, but aside from aggressively throwing their weight around, they did not put up very much of a fight either.

Eventually, Solaire found his way to an open chamber. Rushing water was falling through a deep crevice on one end, and a fence of rusted bars that bisected the room crossed the other. As Solaire stepped closer, he noticed many of the bars were bent inwards, toward an enormous, grime-covered gate. A man in the strangest bronze-colored armor was seated just inside, legs crossed and his back to the wall. He was conversing quietly with a familiar figure who stood just across from him, immediately recognizable by her deep purple scarf and foreign armor. The sound of the rushing water covered their hushed voices.

 _Yes,_ Solaire thought, _how wonderful, to bump into a friend while traveling through dark places._ He smiled beneath his helm and sloshed through the filth toward the pair.

The noise immediately drew their attention, and Solaire could see Azur say something to the seated man before she raised a hand in greeting.

"We meet again!" Solaire softly exclaimed, unable to keep the grin off of his face. It must have leaked into his voice as well, because Azur smiled fondly in return.

"Indeed." She answered, and turned to gesture toward the man still seated on the floor, legs crossed. "This is Domhnall of Zena, a dependable merchant, despite his eccentricity."

Domhnall chuckled at the introduction and turned to face Solaire, who gave him a nod. "I am Solaire of Astora, it is a pleasure to meet you, tradesman."

"Aye, siwmae." Domhnall replied, voice light and cheery, "I hope to make some fine trades with you and your friend here." He looked back at Azur, "Now, what was it you were hoping for?" He queried curiously.

 _He is quick to get back to business,_ Solaire silently observed.

"A few pouches of your golden pine resin will do." Azur picked a couple of glowing, white orbs from a pouch at her belt, _Souls for the trade,_ and handed them to Domhnall as he dropped a few small sacks into her opposite hand.

"Ah, you would not happen to know where the key is," Azur gestured toward the large, iron gate, "would you?"

Domhnall hummed thoughtfully for a moment and had begun to shake his head before Azur held a handful more of souls out to him. He scooped them into his hands and immediately brightened back up.

"As a matter of fact, I do." He stuffed the souls into a pouch and dusted off his lap. "There is a dragon here, with a great, swollen belly and an appetite to never fill it. Or, so it seems. Heh heh. That dragon has swallowed up the key." Domhnall shrugged apologetically, "That is all I know, I'm afraid. Best of luck to you. I hope you'll be back to make another fine trade."

 _A dragon?_ Solaire's stomach dropped and he turned to Azur, who also turned to look through the sights of his helm apprehensively.

Solaire cast about for encouraging words. "We will deal with the dragon together. That way, we may yet have a chance."

Though Azur's gaze dropped away and her brow knit uneasily, she clenched her jaw and nodded at him.

Following their brief farewells, Solaire and Azur parted with the merchant from Zena and walked through a shadowed doorway in the wall just on the other side of the rusted bars. As they ascended the darkened staircase, Azur commented, "The stench is not quite so foul up here."

At the top, the door opened to an immense cavern, huge stone walls built into its surface. A peek over the edge of the parapet revealed a dizzying height, and Solaire leant back away from it with a fuzzy feeling inside his head after noting the drop. They were standing above a great cistern of sorts. Brilliant silver shafts of moonlight streamed through massive breaks in the far wall, and the room was peppered with ancient pillars which fell off where the floor opened up into a massive chasm. Water that streamed from the cliff echoed as it fell into the dark depths. The only way down seemed to be through a small stairwell tucked into the back of the open wall they stood on.

As he took in his surroundings, Solaire realized the architecture differed from the rest of the sewers, though he was no architect himself. Perhaps it was simply because they were built for different purposes.

 _But what, then,_ is _this place's purpose?_

Exploring the first floor proved uneventful. Aside from a giant rat that burst from a wooden crate to attack them, the wall was barren, so the pair descended to the second floor.

Azur and Solaire were just splitting up to clear the next floor, when a familiar man wearing brightly colored armor calmly stepped around a corner. He held a shotel in his hand, the strong curve of its blade wound to point toward the floor. An identical weapon hung at his waist and was paired with the parrying dagger at his belt.

"Hello there," he greeted in his raspy voice, "Marvelous to meet the two of you down here. Truly." Solaire could hear the mocking grin in his tone from behind his visor.

"Indeed it is! Well met, Knight Lautrec." Solaire replied brightly. He refused to allow Lautrec to dampen his spirits, even if the Carim knight took him for a fool. "Might you also be journeying to the second bell?"

"As luck would have it, I am." Lautrec glanced between Azur, whose expression was entirely unreadable, and Solaire. "Would the pair of you possibly be interested in a little cooperative effort? We are all experienced warriors here, I am sure it would greatly reduce each of our work loads."

"Yes." Azur answered this time, and a small smile slipped onto her face. "I am sure it would. Solaire, what say you?" Both Lautrec and Azur's eyes were on him now.

Solaire buzzed with excitement and energy, and he allowed it to show unabashedly. "Magnificent! Of course, of course! Let us engage in some jolly cooperation! Are we all sufficiently prepared?"

"As much as I will ever be. May as well get on with it." Was Lautrec's response, and he began to lead the way down the grimey steps. Azur's small grin was still in place, and she drew her blade as she passed to follow Lautrec. She gave Solaire's shoulder a firm pat with her off hand. Enthusiastically, Solaire bared his steel and brought up the rear.  
  
"You should probably know, Lautrec," Azur started as they made their way down stone steps, "we were tipped on the whereabouts of the key."

"Yes? And?" Lautrec prompted impatiently.

"It is in the belly of a dragon, somewhere in this place." She finished, voice lowering with the gravity of her statement.

"Lovely." Lautrec replied and sounded as thrilled as any of them felt.

Cautiously, they entered the great open area Solaire had looked out upon when they first begun walking the walls. As he walked after his companions a strong unease overcame him, and the hair at the nape of his neck suddenly stood on end. Azur and Lautrec had slowed to a stop as well. _Perhaps they feel it too._

Soon enough, he understood why.

At the end of the enormous hall, there appeared to be a waterfall of some sort that spilled over the edge into the great, dark gap. Just over the lip of the overhang, a sleek reptilian head appeared. Its tongue flicked out into the mist of the waterfall, tasting the knights' presence. At a distance, it looked almost miniscule.

Until it began hauling itself over the edge of the precipice. Shortly after its slim head and neck, the creature's body bloated outwards and it quickly became misshapen and gargantuan. Below its throat, its chest opened. _A grievous injury?_ Two pairs of wings stretched from its upper back, and long, strange pairs of legs that more closely resembled arms reached out and pulled at the ground. As it revealed more of itself, Solaire realized it was no wound that had opened the dragon's chest. Lengthy white tusks lined the edges of the gaping, wriggling maw that split the beast down the center. Teeth.

_A mouth, it is a mouth._

Wings spread, the dragon lifted its upper half to a startling degree, its back bent such that it seemed to have no spine to break. Sitting in such a way, it was near five times the height of any of the knights. The maw that split it down the center opened, and from it an unearthly roar erupted deafeningly. The ceiling shook with its might.

Solaire immediately took this as a call to action, and summoned a powerful lightning spear from his talisman before he threw it fiercely into the great maw across the room. Before it could find its mark, the dragon shifted just enough for the spear to instead strike its hard scales. The spear still split them apart with ease and created a deep hole in the creature's flesh the width of the shaft.

Azur and Lautrec were glancing hesitantly from the dragon to each other, unnerved by the creature's grotesque form. _They have no spells or miracles,_ Solaire realized, and shouted to rouse their focus.

"Go! We _must_ take this beast down!"

With that, they visibly steeled themselves before they took off, moving ahead to flank the dragon on each side. Quickly, they began to slice at its legs and sides in search of weak spots among the tough scales. _I would not want to approach that mouth, either._ When the lightning seemed only to severely provoke the dragon's ire, Solaire summoned yet another spear in faith that it would wear it down. It struck its maw just off-center, this time smoothly piercing soft pink flesh.

Soon enough, the dragon slammed its terrifying upper half back onto the floor, bellowed furiously and charged directly at Solaire. With the swiftness of a practiced warrior (pushed along by instinctual panic), Solaire pulled the shield off his back and gripped it in his hand before he jumped to avoid the great beast's charge as it slammed into the stone wall.

He found himself in the perfect position to slip a thrust into the raw, pink flesh between great white incisors, and positioned his shield to protect his left side as his blade sank deep into the meat. As he pulled it back out, an urge overcame him to thrust violently again. It was a mistake. The claws of a huge, scaley leg slammed into Solaire's chest from his right, and sent him tumbling backwards to the stoney floor.

When he got his bearings once again and found himself seated on the floor, he realized the dragon was puking some kind of thick, putrid bile over the expanse of the floor. Solaire scrambled to get to his feet, but the huge pool of bile was nearing quickly. It would have swallowed him up had he not felt a hand roughly grasp the back of his tunic, yank him up and pull him in the opposite direction. As he ran, he took a look and realized Azur was beside him, hardened gaze pinned to the dragon.

"Thank you my friend!" Solaire shouted to her through heavy breaths, and noticed the dragon turned to face Lautrec. It whipped the Carim knight with its long, thin tail, and sent him skittering across the floor. Swiftly as he could, Solaire summoned another lightning spear and prepared to drive the beast back. The creature towered over Lautrec, front half reared up and ready to slam its enormous fanged mouth onto him. _Gods be good._

They were.

Solaire's spear struck true, deep in the center of the great maw, and the beast screeched and reeled backwards. It gave Lautrec time to regain his footing and for Azur to draw up to the base of the dragon's maw, only to cut through it deeply in swift, vicious arcs. When the beast reared to smash its maw onto the pair, they each dodged away proficiently. No sooner had they done so than they immediately leapt back to slashing and thrusting into the dragon's softer underbelly.

The majority of the acidic bile was fortunately being gradually washed away in the current of the shallow water that trailed along the center of the room. What remained was mindfully stepped over, and (occasionally) clumsily slipped in.

Suddenly, the dragon's legs shoved it upwards in an enormous leap as its four wings flapped ferociously to keep its lengthy body up in the air. The force was such that the wind the beast's wings crashed down on them caused a slight pressure, but Solaire kept his eyes on the dragon. It made its way above Azur as if to crush her when it allowed its body to drop to the hard floor. Solaire saw her duck and run out of harm's way as he and Lautrec ran to her aid.

Lautrec worked his way to the thing's hind legs and began hooking his shotels into the base of the tail. He hacked and cut and sliced, all with excellent form and cruel ferocity. In the meantime, the dragon had caught Azur with one of its legs, slammed her underfoot and was keeping her there. Solaire raced to the leg which pinned her as she desperately drew a dagger and stabbed at it, coordination a painful wreck. He hacked at the dragon's wounded ankle, which severed it about a quarter of the way. The strike forced the beast to roar and lift its foot off of Azur's chest. She gasped, found the hilt of her scimitar and pulled herself to stand as quickly as she could manage. Her hand clutched the armor that covered her chest, and she struggled to breathe as she limped her way to Solaire's side.

Solaire lifted his shield as the dragon flung itself around to face Lautrec with an aggravated scream, its tail whipped over his and Azur's heads and crashed through a crumbling pillar. Scattered bits of stone rubble clinked off of their armor as Solaire searched for an opening, while Azur quickly took a small swig of estus to mend her broken bones.

"Do you have more spears?" Azur panted impatiently from his side as she quickly snatched one of the small bags of pine resin she bought earlier from her belt. Careful not to touch the thick paste inside, she hurriedly smeared it to the curved blade of her scimitar. Mere moments later, the steel awoke with dancing arcs of golden lightning.

Quickly, Solaire felt out the limit of his remaining power. "Seven, or thereabouts!" He replied as he allowed one to begin to form in his hand, having caught her meaning. With one quick nod, Azur tore forward again. She ducked under a bloody, scaley leg that lunged for her head, and disappeared behind the great beast.

Focused primarily on Lautrec, the dragon made a grab for him that he quickly dodged away from, only to throw a powerful cut into its wrist. That had turned out to be a mistake, and before either Solaire or Lautrec could see it, the dragon's other arm had come up and snatched Lautrec from the opposite side. As it lifted him toward its gaping maw, Solaire's lightning spear struck it at its inner elbow, and the creature shrieked as it dropped Lautrec so closely to itself that he landed just at the base of its mouth. He pushed himself off as quickly as possible and was nearly gnashed by its huge fangs.

One of the arms he used to push himself off of it was caught instead.

As the teeth of the dragon's maw curled inwards and smashed together, Lautrec let loose a primal scream of agony, the plates of his armor not strong enough to withstand the dragon's ravenous jaws. The crunch of his bones and armor both rang loudly in Solaire's ears, but his screams were deafening.

As quickly as was possible, Solaire let loose a barrage of his remaining lightning spears. They struck along the pink flesh lining the dragon's great maw and created deep, bloody holes wherever they landed. On the third, the beast finally flinched back and opened its mouth to roar furiously. Lautrec crashed to the floor, and Solaire sprinted to his side.

Solaire lifted Lautrec's unharmed arm over his shoulder and ran from the beast with him as quickly as they could manage. Though his breathing was labored, Lautrec supported most of his own weight.

Just as they began to turn to face the enemy again, a loud snapping noise like that of a tree breaking in two sounded through the great cavern, closely followed by a hellish, shrieking roar. The dragon's long, whipping tail fell heavily to the stone floor as small bits of golden lightning danced across its length. Blood flowed in thick streams from the stump where it had once been, and the beast flopped to the floor only to immediately lift itself back up and charge back across the chamber. It thrashed and pushed itself away in a desperate escape attempt, easily toppling pillars as if they weren't even there to begin with. When it reached the edge of the chasm at the very end, it slowed and collapsed to writhe in agony. As the dragon's blood colored the pool it lay in, it finally began to still.

Before it could do so for too long, Azur emerged from behind its severed tail with a slight limp, bloodied sword resting on a steel-clad shoulder. She began making her way toward the dragon's head, but Azur's attention snapped to Lautrec when he lifted his good hand with some difficulty and gestured for her to wait.

Lautrec staggered over to the enormous fallen creature, dagger in hand, and rounded it to the dragon's small head. He stood before it breathing heavily for a moment, expression unreadable below his helm. Then, with an enraged roar seemingly unbecoming of the usually cool and collected Carim knight, plunged the dagger through its skull with a slick crunch. It put an end to the beast's painful squirming for good.

Silence followed as Lautrec took a sizeable swig of his estus and caught his breath for a moment.

"Well," Lautrec said as he shakily caught his breath, "That will do it. Now," He pulled the dead dragon's mouth open with a renewed limb to peer inside, "where in bloody hell is that key?"

Solaire moved to join him, and pulled back a layer of bloodied pink flesh from the edges of the maw. "If the beast swallowed it, I suppose we should search its stomach?" 

Lautrec seemed prepared to throw back a witty retort when Azur strode up to them.

"I believe this is it." A large, grimey iron key sat in the palm of her hand, and she held it up to show them.

"Very good." Lautrec commented, "At any rate, might you be persuaded to hand the key to me? I am, after all, the one who struck the killing blow." He reasoned as he held up a palm expectantly.

 _Does he not trust us?_ Solaire wondered. He turned toward Azur. Blank-faced, she simply looked from Lautrec's open hand to his visor, and once more to his hand. A small grin quirked up the corners of her mouth, the sharp glint in her eyes tempered with a hint of incredulity. "No, Lautrec, I am afraid not. I will be opening the gate."

Lautrec's hand fell to his side, and for one tense stretch of silence, he simply gazed at her through the sights of his visor. _Is he considering a violent approach?_ Solaire wondered, and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. Azur, he noticed, was steadfastly staring back, drawn sword still clutched readily in one hand.

Before Solaire could step in with a more diplomatic proposal, Lautrec chuckled softly. "Yes, yes, of course." He waved a hand dismissively, as if to clear the previous foreboding aura from the air. "We are, after all, together on this path, until it takes us our separate ways."

He paused and noticed Azur hadn't budged. "Come now, there's no need for that look." He crooned patronizingly. "Your reply simply...gave me pause for a moment. You know how it is in these lands," He glanced at Solaire and lowered his voice, "with _our_ curse."

"I do." Azur acknowledged and finally loosened her posture. "Which is precisely why we must look out for one another if we are to strive together toward our common goal." She gave him a cutting glare and her tone dropped threateningly, "I will not tolerate any pettiness or conniving, Ser Lautrec."

The Carim knight froze momentarily, then adjusted his posture to lean towards Azur antagonistically. " _Are_ you _saying_ something, easterner?"

"Right! Well, I think we have dilly dallied next to this terrifying creature's corpse for quite long enough." Solaire finally interjected with a tinge of anxiety that tightened his voice. "Before we begin, is there any need for a trip back to Firelink Shrine? Or shall we make straight for the second bell?"

"I have no need," Lautrec immediately replied, "If we can simply continue our journey as directly as is reasonable, that would be ideal." He turned back to Azur, "So long as _all_ parties are satisfied?"

Azur paused at Lautrec's answer to eye the damaged armor that covered his arm. "Very well." She sighed tiredly and began walking back toward the entrance. "We continue."

The majority of the short trip back to the gate to Blighttown was spent in silence. _Well, I do hope these two are capable of working together long enough for us to successfully complete this journey,_ Solaire thought, _They do not seem very compatible._

He glanced between Azur and Lautrec from his place at the rear, walking side by side. _Although, at the very least they do seem willing to try._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my friends Leider Hosen, Mason Tims, and pyro-rocketeer for helping me edit, discuss plot, and bounce ideas off of. They've been a lot of help. :)
> 
> Also! Here's a link to the Azur drawing I did for this fic, check it out: http://iwillkillyouwithonepunch.tumblr.com/post/152616598367/my-oc-azur-in-her-plated-mail-i-took


	4. Rhea II

_The mask you wear is falling_  
_All these prayers to the gods_  
_While the tide is growing high_  
_Will you make us stronger_  
_When you strike us down?_

* * *

  
There was only one way to the Tomb of the Gravelord, and that was through the bleak, broken grey earth of the Catacombs.  
  
Rhea and her trio of escorts marched into a small cemetery, which sat atop the grassy ridge that curled around the far side of Firelink Shrine. _The entrance must be just beyond this,_ she estimated, as the area on the cliff was not very large. Scattered bits of skeletons were strewn carelessly about the yard between jutting gravestones of all shapes, and Rhea felt a pang of sympathy for those among the dead who were never properly laid to rest.  
  
As they approached, the bones began rolling toward one another, clicking over rocky gravel in order to gather together in groups. They hovered, joints clicked back into place and snapped themselves into their original orientations. Skulls with eye sockets that glowed with harsh blue fire crowned their fully reformed spines. Ivory fingers clutched painted, round shields and brandished their cruel, curved blades threateningly.

  
“Crush their bones, they will not recover!” Petrus commanded, and the men formed a protective crescent in front of Rhea. The skeletons’ slashes bounced harmlessly off their thick steel shields, and they began methodically bashing skulls in as they pushed across the yard.  
  
Rhea carefully moved with them, wisely keeping herself out of their way. The small collection of offensive miracles, which she had been allowed to learn for the sole purpose of teaching the inexperienced men of the church (and _expressly_ forbidden for her use as a Maiden), fleetingly passed through her mind. _I am here should any injury befall them,_ she reminded herself, _I have my duty just as they have theirs._  
  
As they approached a broader clearing on their path, Petrus warned them not to stray far from the cliffside inwards. “There are far larger beings who would have us slain and hollowed,” he whispered, “Here _and_ on the path ahead. We need not seek them out.”

  
Quietly, and without further incident, they walked cautiously down a stone stairway that curved along the cliff. Just around the bend, Rhea saw the stairway plunge into the darkened entrance of a cavern that opened the earth, yawning ominously toward them.  
  
As they took the first few steps past the edges of the entrance and inched inside, allowing their eyes to adjust to the lack of light, Rhea stared into the black before them. The air itself already tasted flat.  
  
_We are entering a great tomb,_ she thought, _the ancient burial grounds of the god of death. It is not likely to smell as fresh as the surface._  
  
Rhea found her fingers closing around the golden pendant she had brought from her home in Thorolund, the one her mother had gifted her as a young girl. The only trinket she was allowed to take. Her thumb stroked softly over its metallic surface. She looked from Vince to Nico, the first restlessly twirling his mace and the latter awkwardly adjusting his grip on his shield, and felt warmth bloom in her chest. Rhea was not alone, her dearest friends in the world were before her, they were at her side, to protect her and to be protected by her. And neither were _they_ alone.  
  
_The gods watch over us. Our Lord guides us. We will prevail through this dark._  
  
“My lady?” Vince had caught her look, and worry scrunched his features. His question prompted the attention of both Nico and Petrus, who both turned curiously to look at Rhea.  
  
This time, the smile came to her, small though it was. “I am alright, Vince. I think...we will be alright. The Allfather guides our steps and our faith remains strong.” Petrus and Vince returned her smile, but Nico’s expression remained unreadable. Rhea took in a deep breath. “Vereor Nox.”  
  
“Vereor Nox.” The men echoed the prayer, and with the clanking of armor and the tap and thud of their footsteps, they moved again further into the dark.  
  
A single, reanimated skeleton had been the first to lunge at the shield wall the trio of cleric knights created and was quickly swatted down. As they moved further, several pink orbs glowed hazily from over a steep drop in the floor that fell into an abyss. The path continued on a narrow stairwell which hugged the wall, and Vince started to step in front to lead.  
  
“Wait!” Petrus hissed, causing Vince to freeze in place. The pink orb spun to face them, and Rhea gasped as she took an involuntary step backwards.  
  
“Is that...are those floating _heads_?” Vince exclaimed in disbelief.  
  
“Of a sort,” Petrus anxiously replied, “We mustn’t allow them to get close, they _will_ cause a sizeable blast.”  
  
“So how are we supposed to get _around_ them? Could you not have warned us?!” Vince asked impatiently and took a step back.  
  
As the head in question grew closer, Rhea realized it was incorporeal, ghostly. It bobbed steadily toward them in the cool air, as if floating through a body of water.  
  
Suddenly, Rhea heard the clacking of bones reforming and the brief scrape of steel along the floor just behind her. She whirled around and found the twin blue flames of a long-dead warrior’s eyes boring into her. With a startled cry she brought her arms up close to her chest, prepared to attempt to protect her face in the panicked manner of someone without martial training. The creature brought its blade back, telegraphing its swing as it closed in.  
  
There was a loud clang as Nico shoved himself in front of Rhea shield first, closely followed by the wicked crunch of his axe through the skeleton’s skull and collarbone. He turned and looked Rhea over, Rhea made to quickly thank him when the rising roar of a deep, inhuman inhalation echoed through the chamber and interrupted her. Vince shouted and a high pitched scream accompanied the blast from behind that knocked Rhea into Nico. The clatter and crunch of the clerics’ armor as they fell sounded muffled in the wake of the shrieking head’s explosion, but the effect wore away soon enough.

 

Petrus was shouting for them to stand, and Rhea felt herself being helped to her feet and ushered swiftly down the stairway that clung to the wall. Two more skeleton warriors smashed into Vince and Petrus at the front, while Nico covered Rhea and himself with his shield as more blasts from their flank brutally smashed them against the wall. Black spots bloomed and shrunk in Rhea’s vision, and the grey room before her tilted and swayed as if she had boarded a ship. An eerie lack of feeling overcame her. Again, she felt herself guided by gauntleted hands as she recovered her balance.  
  
As quickly as they could manage, they were out of the entrance hall and down a rusted ladder which lead to a slightly lower level. Skeletal warriors were growing more numerous, the fallen reforming and clattering back into battle.  
  
_Odd,_ Rhea’s thoughts were strangely calm, _Petrus neglected to warn us any of these warriors would reform._  
  
The Thorolund party pushed through a short, narrow passage to another room while Rhea tried hard not to trip over the scattered piles of splintered bones that crunched underfoot.  
  
“There must be a necromancer within short distance,” Petrus panted as he smashed through a skeleton blocking the entrance of a tunnel off to the side of the main path, “If we destroy him, the dead will remain so.”  
  
The small tunnel led into a comfortably sized cave with a bonfire placed near one wall. A cloaked figure, with the face of a hollow (or someone _nearly_ hollow), was holding up a glowing skull by a fist of decaying hair, as though it were a lantern. It immediately threw blazing balls of fire at the clerics, and Vince and Nico placed themselves in front of Rhea to take the brunt of the blows with their shields.  
  
Thankfully, Petrus had swiftly approached the creature and took no time in smashing his spiked mace over the thing’s head viciously, splattering rotted brain matter along the near wall.  
  
When the necromancer fell, the clatter of bones could be heard outside the tunnel, followed by silence. The only sound in Rhea’s pounding, throbbing head was the Thorolund party’s harsh panting, and the hard drum of her heartbeat. They all took a moment to catch their breaths in the warm glow of the bonfire.  
  
Rhea finally summoned her voice as she strode up to Vince and Nico, “Let me see to your wounds.” They each dropped their shields, Nico doing so with a pained wince. Both of them seemed to have a few moderately severe burns flecked along their cheeks (the tips of Vince’s hair were singed), and Nico had sprained his wrist, but otherwise their injuries were minor.  
  
Rhea incanted a brief prayer of healing and channeled the miracle’s power through her ivory talisman. Soon enough, her companions were good as new, and her head no longer throbbed or gave her bouts of dizziness. After they thanked her, Vince bashfully inquired about Rhea’s health, and Rhea assured him she was fine. Petrus joined them as they all gathered to seat themselves around the bonfire.  
  
Now that they were allowed to rest, Rhea noticed the huge, broad black beetles that swarmed along the earthen walls, all following particular paths together as if herded like cattle. Her stomach flipped with disgust, but she forced her eyes back to the bonfire.  
  
“Well, _that_ was bloody awful.” Vince complained, a deep frown pulling at his features. Nico grunted.  
  
_I am inclined to agree,_ Rhea silently concurred as she stared into the supernatural embers. They had been too disorganized, but she understood Vince and Nico were no veterans of war. _We all had been far too messy. Only…_ Rhea’s gaze lifted to eye Petrus. _One of us was not supposed to be._  
  
“Why did you not tell us anything about those ghostly, exploding heads, Petrus? We could have _used_ a forewarning!” Vince was beginning to sound accusatory. At his tone, Rhea’s thoughts flashed back to the foreigner who had assaulted Petrus. Her heart thumped heavily at the implication.  
  
Petrus’s eyes widened, “I-I’m terribly sorry, I had thought my warning in the cemetery was sufficient-”  
  
“You hadn’t said a _word_ about any _necromancers_ either. That first skeleton we smashed, got back up and nearly sliced my lady to ribbons!” Vince growled angrily, eyes narrowed at the older cleric.  
  
“Please, you are mistaken,” Petrus implored, “All I’ve done was standard procedure, you see. I was simply under the...apparently misguided impression that each of you had been properly briefed before you were sent here.” He sighed, blue eyes welled with tears that glittered in the firelight. “Perhaps...this is why none have yet succeeded in returning with the Rite.”  
  
This seemed to change Vince’s attitude, as he softened and wilted guiltily, awkwardly casting about for an appropriate reply. Nico only sat stiffly, observing the exchange without a word.  
  
Rhea kept her silence and scrutinized Petrus further. She felt it again, as she observed his behavior, that baffling familiarity. It was no comfort to her, though. _If there is a chance that woman...Azur,_ she recalled, _was not maliciously attempting to sabotage our mission for some unknown reason…_

 

Petrus turned his watery gaze to Rhea’s before she could delve further into that thought. The intensity of emotion she saw in his eyes shocked her. “And to think...my lady could have been…” He palmed his face in an attempt to wipe away stray tears. “There is truly no excuse for my absolutely irresponsible lack of discretion.” Petrus turned his gaze back on Rhea imploringly, “Your Highness, please, forgive me. I truly do not wish any harm to befall you.”

 

All eyes had turned to her. Rhea froze for a moment. _This man_ was _assigned by the Church authorities. He is undead, but...he must be well trusted to have been given this position,_ she decided, and smiled kindly at him. “Petrus, there is no need to berate yourself so. We understand it was simply an honest mistake. I would request that you describe what we will be facing in further detail, however.”

  
Petrus sniffled, “Thank you, my lady. Most gracious of you.”

 

Rhea could not quash her suspicions, but she did what she could to suppress them. _It is merely the influence of that easterner, clouding my judgement. Why would I uphold the words of a violent foreigner over those of a holy man directly appointed to assist us?_

 

In as few and brief words as were possible, Petrus detailed the obstacles and monsters that would meet them on the path ahead. He seemed to do his utmost not to leave anything out, pausing occasionally in what appeared to be deep thought and concentration so that he did not miss a thing. Rhea, Vince, and Nico paid rapt attention to everything he said, and made inquiries where necessary.

Traitorous thoughts still sprung forth in Rhea’s head without her bidding. _And what guarantees us he is being truthful even now? That foreign woman told me he plotted to…_ She refused to allow herself to finish the thought. _Petrus is an honest man of the Church, and the Way of White would not have given him his position if he was untrustworthy_.  
  
When they stood to depart, Rhea silently recited a prayer for her own sanity and willpower, which she decided she must be lacking to dare question the authority of the Church so repetitiously. _Dare I think it...I am beginning to sound almost heretical,_ she realized with no small amount of anxiety.  
  
“We shall want to pull that switch before our departure,” Petrus indicated an ancient structure built into the wall beside them, “Else we shall not very well be able to proceed.”  
  
With some great effort and heaving, the marked lever pulled from its strange stone enclosure, the shaft scattering clouds of yellow dust on its way out.  
  
“The way ahead should be clear. If it please you, my lady.” Petrus dusted his hands and picked up his shield and mace, indicating he was ready to move on.  
  
Nico led the party this time, Petrus just beside him, and Rhea followed behind them as Vince took up the rear guard. Each of them moved with far greater caution after the slight disaster that had been their entrance.  
  
The chamber that led into the small tunnel they emerged from, which held the bonfire, was laden with tightly-fitted brick. The worn stone walkway was lined with broken down pillars that were perhaps half the height of the ceiling, which caused them to seem out of place.  
  
Something else that seemed far more out of place caught Rhea’s eye, however. As she and her companions walked through the chamber, she noticed a hunched, hooded figure on one side of the path. Before she could blurt some sort of warning to alert her cleric guard, she realized it was merely a statue, and took a calming breath. Understandably, she had missed it when they had first come through. Vince had taken notice of her brief fright, and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. She shot him a grateful smile in return before turning back to study the single, stone figure.  
  
Upon closer examination, it looked as though it had originally meant to emulate a human, hooded and cloaked and hunched as though bearing a great weight on its shoulders. It bore the face of a bearded man, with curling locks flowing to one side as if it were being combed through by a fierce wind. His mouth was agape, _in shock, in horror, in anguish, in rage. One, or all of those,_ Rhea deduced. Aside from those few notable things, the statue was overall, fairly unremarkable.  
  
_It is its presence that is disturbing,_ she surmised, _its posture. That unsettling face...What is it meant to represent?_  
  
The dark of the enclosed room soon opened to a far brighter area. The grey wall ahead twisted to their left, and small, green patches of grass sprouted betwixt the white gravel littered across the ground. More statues, with disquieting faces not dissimilar to the one Rhea had just examined, stood at the edge of the path like silent guardians watching their every step. _And misstep,_ Rhea heard herself think, with mounting trepidation.  
  
The turn opened up into a huge cavern, and Rhea was forced to shield her face momentarily to allow her eyes to adjust to the intense brightness. When she was able to peer out from behind her white-gloved hand, she beheld a long, thin waterfall above, gushing and spraying white foam from a sizeable break in the far wall. The stone the water cascaded over was shaped like gnarled, broken teeth.  
  
The path continued on a ledge which hugged the wall, and as they walked into the open, Rhea realized each wall was honeycombed with tunnels, chambers and passages. She could see into some of them through carved entranceways and windows.  
  
Before she could more fully take in her surroundings, Petrus shouted and a loud clang sounded from the front; he and Nico taking the brunt of several more skeleton warriors’ strikes.  
  
Petrus cried over a shoulder to Rhea and Vince, “Look out! There is another-” he was cut off by the hiss and crash of a fireball smashing against the wall between them. It had missed Rhea by mere inches. She was suddenly quite warm.  
  
“My lady!” Vince cried, just behind her. He pushed himself to her side and raised his shield against the hot blaze of a second fireball while hastily ushering her toward Nico and Petrus. As she ran, she realized there was a second necromancer casting his magic at them from the safety of a chamber in the wall across the way.  
  
By the time Rhea and Vince had caught up, Nico and Petrus had already defeated the skeletons, clearing the path ahead. They wasted no time in crossing a bridge over the (bottomless, from what Rhea could tell) drop as quickly as was manageable, bashed their way through another duo of skeletons, and thoroughly trounced the necromancer as he attempted to slip away.

  
Rhea immediately inquired as to whether anyone was hurt, but there were naught but minor scrapes and burns between them. She, herself, was very fortunate to escape with _only_ _those_.

  
Briefly, they stood in the chamber and readied themselves to clear the next area. Torches were placed appropriately, so there was no lack of light. Rhea wondered at them, _the necromancers have lanterns, and I assume the dead do not need light...so why are they lit?_  
  
Several more of those disturbing statues sat, seemingly at random, throughout the chamber, and into the hall ahead. Remnants of broken skeletons sat messily in burial niches and alcoves of varying size and depth, old clay pots were filled to the brim with splintered and shattered bones.  
  
Despite being fresh from yet another fight (with many more ahead of them), Rhea could not keep focused on the task at hand. She found her thoughts were suddenly scattered, racing through her head, _That ball of flame could have...No, but...Petrus tried to warn us, if he did not- They were attacked- But it took him too long, what if…_  
  
She thought of the eastern woman, light brown eyes framed with wild black locks, flickering with unadulterated clarity...straightforward. _Sincere._  
  
_What if she had been telling me the truth?_  
  
A series of metallic clangs forcefully brought her back to the present, and her attention was immediately devoted to Vince and Nico’s safety.  
  
_Yes, Vince, and Nico…_ She eyed Petrus distrustfully from her place behind the trio of cleric knights. _But for now, there is naught to do but press on. I have not the evidence and cannot condemn him yet._  
  
They wound through the musty, decaying corridors, destroying every enemy they came across. Soon enough, the path lead them back out into the light of the larger cavern, through a wide, open archway.  
  
“Now,” Petrus stopped them, “I must warn you, there is a path that clings to the wall directly to the right of this doorway. More of the dead guard it, but we need not take that path. We must cross that bridge.” He inched up to the exit and beckoned them, “Remember, our aim is to delve downward. The Gravelord slumbers in the depths of this tomb, and the Rite with him.”  
  
Petrus seemed to brace himself, inhaling deeply and exhaling through his nose, then said, “Follow me as quickly as you are able.”  
  
And so began their mad dash across the bridge. Vince had followed Petrus closely, Rhea herself got a slower start, Nico trailing immediately behind her. Her peripheral vision was a grey and green blur, her focus on Petrus and Vince’s backs, on the dark of the opening at the opposite end. On the pinpricks of blue flame that slowly emerged from the shadows and shed light on the ivory bone of their skeletal vessels, the glint of curved, cruel steel.  
  
As Rhea caught a glimpse of a single, orange light in the dark ahead, she felt the ground beneath her feet shift. Shouting ahead, from Petrus, from Vince, she couldn’t hear what they were saying- she was close, and then-  
  
She was sliding, the bridge had gone completely sideways, and Rhea was falling, tumbling through the grey and the broken, shadowed stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into the meat of this thing, so hold on tight. ;) I hope you guys will keep reading. 
> 
> Thanks again to my beta readers, Leider Hosen, Mason Tims, and pyrorocketeer! 
> 
> Lyrics are from Gojira's "Explosia".


	5. Azur II

If Azur thought the Depths were malodorous, trudging through Blighttown made her silently plead to the gods to free her of her lungs entirely. Wrapping her face with her scarf did not noticeably reduce the potency of the stench, and so idly, she regretted having not snatched a satchel or two of spices before leaving her homeland (though they would have been lost to her after imprisonment in the Northern Asylum). A bundle of sweet-smelling herbs, pouched between the folds of her scarf in front of her mouth and nose, would have slightly eased the effect of the pungent air.

 

The one advantage in her favor was that her nose had adapted enough to the evil stench that it no longer made her want to gag every few seconds. Toxic fumes radiating from the muck were achieving that well enough already.

 

The journey from one lesser cesspit and into the greater one that made up Blighttown was nothing short of thoroughly miserable. A treacherous descent on a series of rickety catwalks constructed with flimsy planks of wood, which wove through dilapidated ruins _miles_ from the ground, took up the better part of the trip. At the very least, torches were placed throughout the structure somewhat generously, so visibility was not as great an issue as they’d presumed. However, that meant their eyes needed to adjust to the sudden light sources once again, and if there were a point the torches ended they would need time to become accustomed to the dark again.   
  
Torchlight was not enough to reveal every threat, however. Pink-fleshed ghouls wearing tattered rags hid themselves around sharp corners, inside large clay pots, and pounced on the travelers in the manner of starving, feral beasts. More intelligent humanoid creatures obscured themselves in the shadows, or placed themselves on platforms out of reach to blow toxic darts at trespassers.  


As they had closed in on the swamp which lay in the base of the town, the trio of knights came across a familiar figure standing on one of the wooden catwalks, wielding pyromancy to strike down foes as they would their blades. Azur recognized him as Laurentius of the Great Swamp, a slightly inept man she had rescued in the Depths. Somehow, he’d gotten himself snatched up by one of the brutish, bag-wearing butchers. She found him crying out for help from a barrel in the cellar.   
  
He smiled when he saw her, “Oh, it’s you! Hello friend,” he greeted, “A relief to see you here.” Then he turned his gaze to Solaire, recognition brightening his eyes, “Is that you, Sunny?” When he looked finally at Lautrec, his good mood somewhat faded, “And, um…”   
  
Lautrec merely stared, expression unreadable behind the visor of his helm while Laurentius visibly made an effort to recall his name. He quickly gave up and turned back to Solaire and Azur with an awkward half-smile. Solaire returned the greeting in as chipper a manner as he could manage in his worn state, while Azur simply answered his smile with a thin one of her own, hidden behind her scarf.  
  
Scratching at his beard and looking slightly uncomfortable, Laurentius gestured between the knights, “So...where are you lot headed?”   
  
“To the bell, my friend, the bell!” Solaire replied with fresh vigor. It seemed reminders of the Astoran’s goal bolstered his will, and from them he found new strength within. He gestured invitingly to the pyromancer, “Come along with us.”  
  
Laurentius gladly joined them, though he alluded to his own destination being somewhere _beyond_ the bell. Together they cleared the last few rickety ramps to alight on the putrid muck that made up the grounds of the swamp basin.  
  
Having been distracted by unnaturally large wasp-like mosquitos (and the task of swatting them into the mud), the group hadn’t moved quickly enough to arrive to a clear path. Mutant creatures, a sort of amalgam of human and spider parts topped with large insect wings, barred the way on each side.   
  
In as organized a fashion as could be managed while breathing noxious air, they formed a unit which allowed them to guard one another’s openings. Deformed creatures and huge insects swarmed, and neither Azur nor the rest of the group had any qualms with carving a bloody path through them.

 

After the monstrosities they had faced and numerous brushes with death during the trip down, the bonfire housed in a filthy drain pipe was an utter relief.

 

Laurentius was the first to plop himself down in front of it and toy with a small tear in one of his manchettes. Solaire soon followed with a grateful sigh, but Lautrec seemed determined not to appear weak. He stood in place and glanced slowly around the inside of the pipe, avoiding Azur’s sidelong gaze.

_He refuses to rest before the foreign woman,_ Azur noted, taking a seat before him. _Practicality suits you far better, Lautrec._  
  
She pictured him slipping in the poisonous mire, and a smile nearly curled the corners of her mouth but for the vivid image of her hands at the back of his neck which followed, holding him under as he struggled.   


Even with the newfound humanity that the dead monstrosity above had provided, Azur contemplated murder. She stared into the fire, mind wandering, edging into uncomfortable places.

 

_If I did kill him, he would be deserving of it. Perhaps he already is..._

 

One recent memory surfaced, a discussion with a man clad in black robes of a strange fashion, like none she had seen. An intricately decorated mask covered the top half of his face and a uniquely designed, turquoise-colored rapier hung at his hip.

_“Thou knowest of the man Lautrec of Carim?”_ The Pardoner always grinned mockingly, as though he knew things others did not. _“I am certain, with thy inclination toward sinful musings, that there is much in common between the pair of you.”_ A sharp glint in his eyes foretold the burst of overly amused cackling that followed, _“Slaughter, to start.”  
  
At least I have cause for suspicion, _ Azur thought, ignoring the bristling hairs at the back of her neck at recalling Oswald. His words had struck a nerve, true, and yet off the mark...she hoped.   
  
“We’ll all need new boots after this,” Laurentius jested, chewing on a small piece of purple moss as he scratched his cheek through a scruffy beard.  
  
“Indeed. I had been thinking the same thing in the sewers above, only recently.” Solaire sighed and slumped, though his tone remained jovial.   
  
Lautrec turned to peer at Laurentius, whose eyes widened when he noticed his attention. “Would you happen to have moss to spare, pyromancer?” He questioned in his raspy voice, “It seems I came ill prepared for the intense toxicity of this _cesspool_.”   
  
Laurentius cringed, “Unfortunately I'm also running low...” he said, “You see, I am seeking the lost city of Izalith, the _birthplace_ of pyromancy. I’m not daft, but...I'd expected less...poison.” He stared glumly into the flames a moment, before a helpless half smile brightened his face, “Well, Izalith is a bit further down, if the tales are true. Perhaps the blight hasn't reached so far.” His expression turned ponderous, “I wonder if demons are immune…”

 

“That does not help me very much,” Lautrec grated frustratedly.   
  
He turned to Solaire when the Astoran spoke, “I have a few clumps I can spare. Perhaps if we pool our resources-”

 

“No,” The Carim knight quickly interrupted, then hastily adjusted his tone, “that _is_ kind of you, but I would not ask such a thing. I merely wish to avoid death by poisoning before we can reach the bell. After all, I am of no use to anyone half dead.”

 

_He wishes not to even out our collective supplies,_ Azur thought as she eyed him, _though I cannot blame him for that._

 

He seemed to feel her eyes on him, because then Lautrec turned to face her.

  
“Is something the _matter_ , easterner?” He questioned impatiently, breaking her from her thoughts in a manner that reminded her of a petulant child.

 

Azur merely sat and stared impassively into the sights of his visor as Solaire and Laurentius watched the exchange nervously, having picked up on the jarring tension. After what seemed a long, silent moment, she reached into a large leather pouch at her belt. Out of her periphery she saw Lautrec discreetly snatch the grip of his shotel and watch her as she pulled a small stack of items from her pouch.   
  
Purple moss.   
  
She noticed Lautrec stiffen for half a second before relaxing again, Laurentius' relieved sigh soft in the background. Solaire had been very still, but when he saw the Carim knight slacken he inhaled deeply and loosened his posture.  
  
Azur smiled slightly behind her scarf, amused. “I have plenty. Take these.”   
  
“Mm, yes…” Lautrec examined the spongey plant offered in Azur’s hand, then chuckled to himself. “Of course.” He snatched them out of her palm, “Many thanks. I shall not forget your generosity.”   
  
The four took another moment’s quiet reprieve in the dingy old sewer pipe, until they decided to peel themselves away from the comfort of the bonfire. Soon enough they were sloshing about, swatting oversized insects into the vile swamp once again. As often as they could, they clung to the walls and walked on small islands of solid earth that still surfaced above the murky waters. Around the base of each large stone pillar such islands existed, granting both cover from the mutants and respite from the poison swamp. Still, waterlogged armor was a great discomfort (guaranteeing extra maintenance would have to be performed upon it later), and the damp had begun to seep through their boots...

 

Ahead, they had peered some strange structure in the distance, ivory-colored and stringy-textured, a large pointed ball atop a hill surrounded by thick, tangled roots which twisted throughout its entirety. The dim lighting obscured detail, but Azur caught a flickering beam of golden sunlight against a great pillar, and her gaze followed it upward. Arches topped the pillars, becoming support beams for the wall at one side. Beyond that, she realized she could see the sky high above the narrow, man-made ravine. A skeleton of dead, twisted branches stretched just into view. _The Archtree...Firelink must be there,_ Azur marveled.  
  
But she forced herself to focus. Azur tore her gaze back to the bizarre, white structure. Hulking mutants carrying boulders their own size stood sentinel outside, in the path to the doorway. It appeared to be the entrance to some sort of lair. _Or...a nest, perhaps._ As they drew closer, it became apparent the materials the structure was built from were completely unfamiliar to her. Azur noticed sticky webbing clutching at the enormous roots. She suspected she knew what sort of monstrous creature must live within such a place.   


An odd thought sprung to mind at the sight. _I wonder if that Thorolund maiden is alive._ She recalled the young woman's delicate features, her curious gaze framed by the stray lock of golden hair. Her fearful, confused expression, and the defiance that'd sprung from beneath. _I wonder if she is seeing some horrifying oddity like this one, in the caverns beneath the cemetery._ Azur took in an uneven breath of swamp air. _What could be so important…_

 

And yet there she was, on a quest she wasn't sure _she_ understood herself, clinging to only the faintest, most uncertain hope of lifting her curse and mending a broken, distorted world. For a sense of purpose, for a new beginning, surrounded by those not dissimilar to herself. Perhaps she _did_ understand the maiden’s tenacity, after all.

  
Solaire quietly gestured for the small group of Undead outcasts to gather on the island behind one broad pillar.   
  
“We shall need to slay those trolls before we proceed,” He half-whispered once they’d gathered close, “How shall we go about this?”   
  
“No one claimed we had to slay them all,” Lautrec disagreed, “If we are swift enough, we could slip through at a corner and overwhelm a single fat brute at a time. We needn’t take unnecessary risk.” The Carim knight may have been self-serving, but he had a mind for survival.

 

“Yes. That is the most sensible approach.” Azur concurred, glancing around at the others, “Are we all in agreement?”   
  
“A wise decision!” Solaire quietly exclaimed, and Laurentius nodded thoughtfully, the spark in his palm gently flaring as though responding to his introspection.  
  
Swiftly and silently as three armored individuals were capable of in the mire, they made way for the far wall. Laurentius seemed entirely unhindered however, and had no trouble navigating the boggy terrain. Azur guessed that the Great Swamp was similar enough to this one that the pyromancer outpaced them with easy, practiced steps. Thankfully, two of the large mutants standing vigil outside their destination were preoccupied with inspecting one another’s waste while a third growled at them, so it wasn’t overly difficult to escape their notice.   
  
Lautrec decided to take the lead as they readied themselves, Solaire and Laurentius shoulder to shoulder behind him, and Azur at the rear. A good distance directly ahead, a single opponent stood beside a boulder nearly its own size, half obscured behind a thick, web-covered root. Privately, Azur was grateful for the time they'd had to allow their sight to adjust to the dusk of Blighttown, otherwise the mutants would appear to be little more than the boulders they carried. Still, the four agreed to tread carefully. It was decided they would circle the creature, particularly because the root granted more cover for them, _less_ visibility for the creature, and the advantage of the resulting sudden confusion.   
  
Azur watched Lautrec shoot forward through the shallow moat, noting the speed at which he did so despite his full plate harness. She didn’t recall Carim as being home to especially skilled smiths, but rather those with a preference for ornamentation and flourish over pragmatism. She tucked the thought away when Solaire followed the Carim knight at a far more believable pace, and bolted ahead herself to round the giant curve of a root with Laurentius splashing in her periphery.   
  
Her boots squelched wetly when she reached solid ground. A brief heat seared over her shoulder as a small orb of flame crashed hungrily into the broad back of the imposing mutant a few strides before her. Azur shielded her face from the sudden brightness, blinking owlishly and stumbling to take cover behind the giant root while her eyes adjusted.

 

The mutant grunted and nearly cried out, but was cut off into a strangled squeak as Lautrec’s shotel hooked deeply into the side of its thick neck. Defensively, it thrust out a heavy arm that clumsily glanced off Lautrec’s side, and was immediately punished when the point of Solaire’s blade found the soft flesh of the mutant’s throat.   
  
Azur heard it utter a choking noise, but the thing stubbornly refused to fall. As it desperately grasped the blade of Solaire’s sword and yanked it out, took one stumbling stomp toward him, Azur stepped forward around the root and brought her curved blade across the back of its meaty calf in a deep drawing cut. It fell to one knee with a furious gargle, and Lautrec slipped in close enough to pierce through an eye with the tip of his shotel. Following a brief moment wherein Lautrec withdrew his weapon, it flopped to the ground with a wet thump.   
  
A glance over her shoulder was enough to assure Azur the killing (rather shockingly) hadn’t alerted any of the other creatures in the vicinity. One lone mutant craned its neck in their direction. Though she could hardly make out its face in the half light, if its comrade’s physical state were any indication of its own, its eyes were milky white with blindness and the rest of its senses were surely dulled immensely from bodily decay.

 

When she turned back around, Solaire was hastily signaling her to advance uphill, where she glimpsed Laurentius’ back as he quietly jogged up it, bits of webbing clinging to his boots. With a quick glance back at the Astoran knight, she silently followed.   
  
The entrance of the lair led to a lengthy, curved tunnel. Bulging egg sacks lined the walls and ceiling below layers of webbing as far as Azur could see. _A burrow. A primal den._ There were other bulging creatures prostrate on the floor at the end of the tunnel. Lautrec scoffed with disgust at the sight, but Laurentius observed them with an odd gleam in his eye. Azur kept her distance.  
  
“What do you suppose they are praying to?” Solaire queried from behind her.   
  
Lautrec was the quickest to reply, “Likely whatever hideous monstrosity guards the bell. It isn’t as though we are dealing with a particularly _refined_ culture, and such barbaric practices are common in Lordran, it seems.”   
  
At that, Laurentius’ gaze shot from one of the egg-bearers to pin Lautrec in such a severe, scorching manner as had not been seen on his face by any of the three knights previously. Lautrec stared back.   
  
“I wouldn’t be so quick to assume the prejudices of the surface world are entirely founded. These are worshippers of the Witch, given their bodies and humanity up as vessels for the creation of demons and the furthering of their great, old civilization, in exchange for...well, usually pyromancy, but it isn't always. These people are all too happy to give themselves to Izalith.”  
  
“Let us say you are correct, and Izalith _is_ below.” Lautrec hummed, a cruel note clinging to his words, “Do you not realize that means the great Lost City is piled with the putrid waste of the sewers and rubbish heaps of Lordran? That it sits at the _bottom_ of the greatest refuse collection in the land?”   
  
At that, Laurentius’ expression fell, and he appeared wounded. He shook his head slowly, sadly, “This is exactly why Izalith became isolationist. Men like you can’t manage to look past your…your haughty indoctrination.” Suddenly he was staring piercingly through the sights of Lautrec’s visor, “A gratuitous amount of abuse was committed against Izalith by men...by _Gods_ with similar ideas. It’s too bad, really, that you so readily choose to ignore fact.”   


_He’s right, they cannot see past their prejudices._ Azur thought, _This, though…_ She took another sidelong look at one of the humans turned hatchery, and back at the pyromancer. _I am not sure what to make of it._

 

Lautrec looked prepared to make another scathing retort, but Solaire spoke before anyone could continue that thread, “Ah, fellows, sorry to interrupt, but we should consider moving forward toward our mutual goal.” He stepped politely around Azur, and gestured to the other men placatingly. “Come.” Without another word, he strode confidently through the entrance to the chamber before them.

  
Laurentius followed Solaire’s example, pointedly ignoring Lautrec as he did. Azur took a few slow steps after them, only to halt beside Lautrec with a stoic sidelong gaze.   
  
The Carim knight sighed and looked at her, “Why _is it_ that I always manage to be interrupted of late?”   


“Perhaps no one can handle your biting wit, Ser Lautrec.” Azur replied, voice low and monotone, but a small smile on her face behind the purple scarf slightly lightened the delivery.

 

Chuckling, Lautrec turned away warily and began walking toward the entryway to the next chamber. “I am beginning to think no one can.”   
  
At the other side of the passage, the cavernous room grew in size immensely. Remnants of an old stronghold (yet far more recent than ancient Izalith) were strewn about, supporting the thick webbing and still eggs which filled the gaps. Though the choking poison of the swamp was largely shut out by the thick walls, the air smelt of sulfur, and small bits of ash floated in on a weak draft. There was a sharp rise in temperature, as if nearing an active volcano, and the humidity they'd become accustomed to vanished in the dry heat. Azur was reminded of the deserts of her homeland, knowing she was fortunate to have some natural resistance to the harsh climate. She heard Laurentius begin to cough, and thanked her past self for her foresight as she adjusted the scarf around her face, leaving only a small slit for her eyes. Still, she noticed her breathing becoming labored, and her eyes beginning to sting.

 

At the very least, the lighting was brighter than in the previous, cramped tunnels. It surely wasn't daylight though, and Azur’s vision was tinted with heated, wobbling reds and yellows.

 

Before Azur could take in further detail of her surroundings, she noticed Solaire and Laurentius had stopped in their tracks. There was an odd, heavy clicking beyond the stone arch of the doorway across the large chamber. It kept a steady rhythm, one which spoke of sinister calm and confidence. One that only grew ever louder despite their halting a good distance away.

 

A figure begun to emerge from the dark, enormous and strangely shaped, but without the clumsiness one would normally ascribe to such mass. As it came into the light, the shape began to take form. A boulder in the semblance of a massive spider's head appeared, multiple clusters of bright red eyes spread across the top half. Its legs looked just as impenetrable, armored with plates of flame-hardened rock that lacked the brittleness of obsidian. The entirety of the great spider was covered with sharp spines, particularly the abdomen, which looked engorged with magma and steamed with ethereal lines of some sort of script. Crags and bumps littered the stone exoskeleton, deep red light bleeding from the cracks. Glowing streams of white-hot liquid fire leaked out through the creatures slavering maw, trail melting into the floor as it walked.

 

If it were only the demon spider, perhaps it would be less shocking, but it wasn’t so simple a monster as that. At the top of the stoney head, there was a circular break in the shell that gave way to a softer, pulpous substance. Azur was reminded of a freshly broken skull, the hard outer shell protecting soft, fleshy matter within. From that strange substance, a pair of hips and the torso of a young woman arose, connecting the demonic spider to her in a strange, discordant clash. Like a nightmarish, surrealist painting brought to life by some dark higher power. The woman was entirely unclothed, her chest covered only by lengthy auburn hair draped tastefully over each shoulder, another section of it tied back. In one hand, she gripped a long, curved weapon, claw-like, flaming and lined with spines. It looked like she had torn it from the body of the spider itself.

 

A loud gasp from Laurentius at the sight preceeded a fierce coughing fit, and he fought to regain his voice as he moved to the forefront of the group. Lautrec drew his blades in preparation, his own harsh breath echoing and shuddering in his helm. Solaire merely raised his shield and glanced cautiously from Laurentius to the demon, shoulders rising and falling with each labored inhale.

 

She drew steadily closer, and Azur squinted through the heat as she did, finally making out the woman's facial features. Her face was angular, but soft, her jawline tapering to a pointed chin. Every feature was proportional to the rest, flawlessly symmetrical. Her high cheekbones and sharp, red-brown eyes were framed by long, silky strands of auburn hair. Despite the neutral frown on her lips as she eyed the small group of humans, her eyes betrayed a flash of interest. She was a beautiful, hellish vision.

 

_I wonder if the poison outside has gone to my head, and this is some twisted mirage created by the heat._ Azur thought absently as she gaped at the woman-spider. She had slain the Capra demon, she'd battled more than one horribly deformed dragon, but this was unlike anything Azur could recall in her undying existence (not that her memory after a few deaths was dependable by any measure).

 

“M-my Lady, please wait-" Laurentius squeezed out between wheezing coughs.   


_“My Lady"?_ Azur’s brow knit in confusion, but the pyromancer had their attention.

 

Cough quelled, Laurentius continued more effectively, voice trembling. “My Lady, you...you are a Daughter of Chaos, are you not?”

 

The woman-spider raised an elegant brow at him, but made no other hostile movements. At the very least, she had stopped stalking toward them a fair distance away.

_She is listening to him?_ Azur’s gaze flicked from Laurentius to the half-demon. For the most part she seemed almost disinterested, but there was something in her gaze that implied this was no regular occurrence. Azur only wondered for how much longer it would keep her attention.

Laurentius took a moment to clear his throat before lowering himself to his knees, bowing until his face nearly touched the ground, to the spider witch. Her eyes widened imperceptibly at the display, but still she waited.

 

“I’m a humble pyromancer of the Great Swamp, my Lady, and these are my...traveling companions. I come seeking Lost Izalith, and...a greater knowledge of the ancient arts.” He took in a deep, faltering breath, then pressed on, “Forgive me for the brazen manner of my plea, but...I ask that my Lady impart some wisdom to us, and…”   
  
His voice tightened a moment as he fought off a cough, and when Azur looked back at the Daughter of Chaos, she saw the fingers around her weapon tighten, and her eyes harden with anger. The spider's maw had closed, its head slowly tilting up and pulling back.   
  
“And I must implore my Lady for safe passage. We mean you no harm-”   
  
A blistering roar burst from the spider’s open jaws as a geyser of brightly glowing magma was jettisoned forth like vomit. Laurentius had only the time to sit up, staring wide-eyed into the spider’s mouth, before his form was drowned in the contents spewing from it. Hissing igneous fluid pooled around him as a cloud of steam rose from what was left of the pyromancer’s corpse, slipping toward the knights’ feet with alarming speed as the horrid sound echoed deafeningly off of the cavern walls.

 

Azur clenched her heat-dry eyes tightly shut and made a dash in the direction opposite the creeping lava. She heard the clamour of armor at her other side, a surprised shout, _Solaire?_ Interrupted by the heavy, clicking steps created by the rhythm of eight legs. An explosion followed, popping the easterner’s ears painfully, and a metallic crash into the stone floor.   
  
She blinked hard, squinting enough to keep her burning eyes open, and saw a charred corpse splayed on the ground at the other end of the room, a sword and shield enclosed in each blackened hand.   
  
A small distance from that, the spider had Lautrec pinned against the cavern wall, and Azur could see him furiously fighting the legs affixing him to it, dagger raised to strike at a gleaming red eye. The claw-sword, wreathed in flame, plunged toward the Carim knight instead. A struggle followed, Lautrec likely grabbing at the weapon in an attempt to direct it elsewhere, but the flames around the weapon grew until Azur could feel the ensuing wave of heat from across the room. If he were able to draw breath in the stifling air, he might have howled with the agony of it.   
  
One foot planted itself in front of the other, and again, and Azur was taking shaky steps toward the Daughter of Chaos before she realized what her body was doing. It was difficult to breathe. A hand absently went to the scarf serving as her mask, but she withheld the temptation to tear it off.   
  
The demon-witch turned to her, and Azur was close enough now that the spider lashed out one thick, clawed leg, mercilessly knocking her to the floor. The point of the clawed foot had pierced a weaker spot in her mail near the underside of her shoulder with terrifying ease. The feel of it splitting out of the other end through flesh and bone should have made her scream, but her chest was far too tight, her throat parched, breath coming in increasingly shallow gasps.   
  
And then she felt numb. The heat began to abate, relief spreading through her limbs from some dark place within. Azur sensed her mind become untethered, floating away from the death and the stink and the unrelenting heat.   
  
A young woman appeared in that comforting dark, white robes trimmed with gold, thoughtful blue eyes and soft golden hair.

 

The witch raised her weapon with a practiced ease and a lack of urgency, poised to strike. An impersonal, but frustrated expression stiff across her face.   
  
Azur was calm as she watched the blazing sword plunge down toward her.   
  
_I wonder if she is any more fortunate than I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY. I had two surgeries, so um. There's my excuse. I promise I'm finishing this, however long it takes. Speaking of, the gay is extremely subtle so far I know, but it's comin' (hopefully in a few chaps), so put on your big girl pants. 
> 
> HUGE thanks to my friend Leider Hosen (over on FFN) for beta-ing and helping me brainstorm.


	6. Laurentius I

If asked about the nature of his thoughts at the time just before the Daughter of Chaos had drowned him in a spout of deadly magma, Laurentius would say that he’d been too caught up in excitement, too rash. The very idea of a direct audience with a Daughter of the mythic Witch of Izalith had been only a distant dream of his for much of his young life. And so when confronted, finally, with the reality that this dream was suddenly achievable, he tripped over himself in his efforts to convey himself to the demon-goddess.   
  
Unfortunately, that also meant the grisly deaths of his unexpected comrades at her hand. The comrades who had, with difficulty, allowed him to take the reigns at the crucial moment rather than adhere to their original plans. Now, they had been forced to take several steps back because of his own blunder.   
  
_I won’t take such a careless misstep again,_ the pyromancer thought, lying on his back in a fog of half-consciousness.

 

He could not see the others yet, but hoped they had all been transported back to the bonfire nearest them when they’d died, back in the filthy drain pipe in Blighttown. Time seemed both exceedingly puzzling and entirely irrelevant, as it always did upon reawakening near a bonfire. Now though, following such an extreme death, the passage of time was a confused tangle, winding and stretching back and around, yet having near no true continuum at all. Attempting to follow it, Laurentius feared, would likely result in accelerated madness and hollowing.   
  
With whatever presence of mind he had and the lack of ability to yet physically move, Laurentius reflected on many things, not least being a particular new discovery. Though it was near always difficult to recall the process of reawakening after death, there did seem to be a difference in the effort the bonfire necessitated this time. Perhaps to speed up the process...   
  
He didn’t think there had been a time previous in which he had been physically vaporized, nor anything close-to. _Perhaps,_ he considered, _the manner of one’s death dictates the amount of time...if time is of any consequence...no…_ Laurentius got lost a moment, struggling to cobble his loose thoughts back into a sensible whole, _...the bonfire takes what’s left and rebuilds it._ A stark image of the mouth of Lady Quelaag’s demon spider opening, moments before drowning him in magma, came to the pyromancer’s mind. _There wasn’t much left of me after that one._  
  
Seemingly uncounted hours passed, and Laurentius’ thoughts continued as a jumbled mess, one bleeding into the other and subsequently to all others, and the pyromancer unable to much care.       
  
That is, until his newly-reformed ears picked up on an alarming sound. It was a strange, discordant din of muffled clanging and startled shouting. Laurentius pried open his eyes with considerable effort, but even when he achieved this, his vision was shrouded in a dark mist that wobbled and swirled with vaguely human shapes.  
  
“Get- move that fool out of the way!” A harsh, raspy voice. _Lautrec?_  
  
The pyromancer made a concerted effort to push his body to motion, achieving only a clumsy flop onto his side. More clashing sounded around him. Shaking hands slipped in a shallow puddle on the cold floor, but before he could attempt to push himself up, Laurentius felt a pair of strong hands clamp underneath each arm and haul him away from the clamour.   
  
“W-wha-” He tried to speak, his jaw not feeling quite so coordinated as it usually was, voice cracking and throat parched. The hands set him down against a wall, cold and damp seeping through the clothing on his back.   
  
“Here, friend,” Solaire’s voice, “drink.”  The Astoran knight was audibly exhausted.   
  
Chill glass touched Laurentius’ lips, and he made a concerted effort to gulp the tasteless, fiery liquid down. Immediately after the warmth dropped into his belly, the pyromancer felt his body begin to regenerate at a quickening pace. The dark fog before him began to transform, the shadow forming shapes outlined by the light of the bonfire, which glowed further down the tunnel. The clamour from earlier grew sharper, the pyromancer’s hearing keener.   
  
Solaire was plugging the stopper back into the top of his estus flask when Laurentius was finally capable of seeing him again. Glancing hurriedly toward the clamor which the pyromancer then clearly recognized as battle, the Astoran Knight slid the round shield from his back with more effort than usual.    
  
“It seems some opportunist wishes to take advantage of our current plight,” Solaire hastily explained, “We were being assailed not a minute following our return to the world of the living. I am not sure how many opponents we have, considering your need for assistance just then- how odd, isn’t it? But well-” The Astoran knight seemed a bit out of sorts, “We can discuss that later. Now we must hasten to assist our allies.”   
  
“Yes of course,” Laurentius replied urgently, realizing their grim disposition.   
  
Solaire made quickly for the part of pipe containing the bonfire, the pyromancer following him with flame readied. He still felt somewhat sluggish, but he knew the cause was the early stage of hollowing that followed a death. _Perhaps it’s a good thing we’re under attack, if this enemy has humanity to spare._ A thought that normally made Laurentius cringe, but when one is under threat of hollowing, taking a violent assailant’s humanity is a matter of self-preservation.   
  
As soon as they’d re-entered the section of pipe that housed the bonfire, Laurentius spotted Azur and Lautrec at the entrance, exchanging blows with what appeared to be two vastly different individuals.   
  
One was a large woman, garments torn to the point of only covering her chest and groin areas, with a familiar sack over her head. Her weapon, an enormous chopping blade weighted almost like an axe, was also very familiar to the pyromancer. He groaned internally, remembering the cannibal butchers who’d captured him and kept him in a barrel in their meat storage chamber. _Beastly women. I hoped I wouldn’t have to come across one again._  
  
The second figure was covered in dark, fluted steel plate, which had especially rounded surfaces and was covered in small spikes that resembled thorns. Both shortsword and shield were covered in similar protrusions, though those on his shield were particularly long and cruel. His helm was oddly designed, but had a look that conjured up memories of old tales concerning a group of knights born in an undead city which fell to the Abyss, the Darkwraiths, who crossed barriers between worlds to steal humanity away from weary travelers.  
  
_I never thought those stories were true,_ Laurentius mused, _though at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if they were._  
  
The easterner and the Carim knight were fighting well, despite clearly not being at their physical peaks. Lautrec was using shotel and dagger to pull and slide the darkwraith’s shield and shortsword skillfully away from himself and position for an attack, but it seemed the enemy was well-equipped to counter. The black steel clad figure maneuvered his own weapons in a similar fashion, feeling Lautrec’s movements through his blades and responding in kind.   
  
The butcher, meanwhile, swung her greatknife with wild ferocity, yet had surprising accuracy. Clearly her aim was to bash Azur into submission, or to create an opening for a killing blow. It seemed largely ineffective however, as Azur turned her round shield in such a way as to allow each heavy strike to slide off and away from her like rain, taking nary a step backward.   
  
Before Laurentius could work out a place to launch his pyromancies without injuring his allies, Solaire dove into the fray, aiming a thrust over shield at the darkwraith. The enemy responded with a startling immediacy. He switched tactics from caution to ferocity, aggressively shoving spiked shield into Lautrec, the Carim knight grunting as he resisted.  
  
When Solaire’s blade connected, it was with the upper rim of the darkwraith’s shield, and the thorned knight responded with several consecutive blows. Most crashed against the sun-emblazoned shield, steel thorns scraping across the bright sigil. One diagonal cut finally struck the edge, but rather than pushing for a thrust the darkwraith took advantage of the spikes along his sword. Yanking the shield sideways, he drove the thorny surface of his shield into Solaire’s chest. The blow was only partially blocked by the guard of Solaire’s sword.   
  
Laurentius’s heart leapt, and he nearly tossed a ball of flame at the darkwraith if not for Lautrec’s sudden interjection. The Carim knight had been watching carefully for an opening, and took his chance then to position himself behind the thorned knight. Holding his shotel so that the curve would catch the darkwraith’s sword should he spin and strike as a defensive measure, he shoved the point of his thin dagger through the gap in plate beneath his enemy’s shield arm. He was rewarded with a pained, breathy sound, before the darkwraith turned sideways and viciously bashed into Lautrec with a round, spiked shoulder.  
  
_What am I doing?_ Laurentius gritted his teeth. He pulled the hatchet from his belt loop and looked to the butcher.   
  
The bottom-heavy brute seemed to be growing impatient and frustrated. Despite having more stamina than the partially-hollowed eastern knight, her attempts to wear the other down were negated by Azur’s superior skill and ability to conserve energy.   
  
Finally, the butcher screamed with bloodthirsty fervor and took the false edge of her greatknife in one hand, ramming her blade, edge-first, into Azur’s front. Although this was deflected with ease, Azur was forced back a step, and when she thrust above her shield in retaliation the butcher parried quickly. Her new grip on the greatknife allowed her a far more accurate, swift control of the weapon.   
  
At a closer glance, Laurentius realized that Azur _was_ wearing down. She stumbled, almost slipping in the shallow stream as the butcher’s greatknife slammed against her shield at a less favorable angle.   
  
_There! This is my chance!_ The pyromancer shot forward, conscious of the savage woman’s great blade, ducking just close enough to perform a short, controlled, scorching blast of fire from one outstretched hand. Her response was immediate, a growling, guttural shriek of pain, before she angrily threw herself into a powerful swing, a desperate attempt to push the pyromancer back out of range. Laurentius scrambled to get out of reach, holding the hatchet in his off hand up as a final line of defense.   
  
The blade never reached him, however, because Azur made a point to slice deeply into the butcher’s attacking wrist. She howled, her greatknife clattering uselessly to the stone floor as she leapt away like a wounded beast.   
  
Wounded arm cradled to her bloodied chest, the butcher glanced toward her companion. Laurentius followed her gaze briefly, noting that the thorned knight seemed to be driven back entirely by the formidable pair that was Solaire and Lautrec, the vicious dagger wound in his side slowing him considerably.  
  
Footsteps rushing further from him snapped the pyromancer’s attention back toward the savage. She had retreated a little into the swamp, _probably to make her getaway,_ and the easterner pursued her with visible caution. He followed, searching for a second opening in which to sling an orb of flame, but was surprised to note that the woman was far more adept in speedily maneuvering through the thick muck than he.    
  
But then the woman halted and abruptly turned to them. Azur immediately slowed her pace to a walk in response.   
  
_What’s she doing?_ Laurentius narrowed his eyes at the butcher. All she did was stare at them through the dark holes in her sack. Azur took another step, and just as suddenly as she’d stopped, the butcher shot off in a new direction through the swamp.   
  
Toward her darkwraith friend.   
  
Azur rushed past the pyromancer to catch up, pulling something from the pouch at her belt, and he followed immediately. Ahead, he saw that their companions were still attempting to batter down the thorned knight, and largely succeeding. But Lautrec’s back was to them, Solaire was at the other side of the darkwraith, and neither seemed to hear the butcher who was nearly upon them.   
  
_She knew she could outrun us,_ Laurentius gritted his teeth, _Bloody-_   
  
“Ser _Lautrec_!” Azur barked as she splashed after the other woman, but the darkwraith had spotted the butcher and realized what she was planning on doing. He caught the Carim knight in a bind, barely keeping Solaire at bay with thorny shield.   
  
Before anyone could stop her, the barbaric woman dove bodily onto Lautrec, looping her arms about his neck and swinging her legs around his side to bring him spinning and splashing down into the muck with her.   
  
In the confusion, the darkwraith threw a clever horizontal swing at Solaire, which turned out to be a feint. Before the Astoran had time to change the direction of his parry, his opponent had made a jagged incision on the inside of his thigh. Solaire dropped to one knee, grunting painfully.  
  
The darkwraith rushed up to Laurentius in turn, startling him enough to plant a strong kick in the pyromancer’s stomach. He wheezed, feeling a crack in his ribs, and ducked away in pain as he brandished his axe defensively. The thorned knight advanced on him, harsh panting echoing in his helm, prepared to thrust his blade into the same flesh he’d just kicked.   
  
Another blade bloomed red from the side of the darkwraith’s neck, instead.   
  
While Laurentius struggled to his feet, the thorned knight stumbled. He whirled around, facing Solaire, and threw his weight into a lunge, which was easily evaded by the partially hollowed knight. Blood dribbled along the mail at the darkwraith’s wounds, but he kept on his feet. Clumsily, he raised his sword and swung at the Astoran’s torso. Solaire batted the blade aside with his round shield, simultaneously following up with a devastating slash to the wound he’d inflicted earlier.   
  
With one last stumble, the darkwraith finally succumbed, falling to a knee before his upper half followed earthward. He lay in a crumpled heap, half engulfed by the thick swamp waters.  

Laurentius inhaled deeply, met Solaire’s gaze, and gave him a grateful nod.   
  
Frantic splashing snagged their attention again. _The butcher,_ Laurentius remembered, looking to the source of the noise.   
  
Lautrec was struggling to sit up in the filth, cursing profusely all the while. His finely crafted plate armor was proving an extreme hindrance in the attempt.   
  
The butcher was on her feet, with a throwing knife protruding from her upper thigh. Azur was taking her shield back up into her off-hand, advancing on the butcher with an intimidating focus. It reminded Laurentius of the darkwraith. He shivered.   
  
But the barbaric woman was limping away as swiftly as she could, so Laurentius started after them while Solaire gave Lautrec a hand.   
  
It turned out fleeing backward through treacherous swamp waters with a knife in one’s thigh was not the wisest decision when being actively chased.   
  
The butcher’s foot must have caught on something, a root or stone, or perhaps a half-buried corpse, and she tripped onto her back in the poisonous mire. Filth splashed every which way and spattered their clothing, and Azur raised her curved blade to strike a killing blow.   
  
Until the butcher unceremoniously slung a weighty clump of sludge into the easterner’s face.   
  
Azur seemed to ignore the shock, pain and sudden blindness, and commit to the cut without regard. The slight delay the swamp sludge had caused, though, was enough to allow the butcher to clumsily avoid the bulk of the swing, and she escaped with only a minor flesh wound.   
  
While the Eastern knight lapsed into a fierce coughing fit, patting her side with her off hand in search of her flask, the butcher continued scrambling away, clearly still panicking at the sudden shift in the tides. Laurentius had already begun summoning the energy for his next attack, carefully observing the direction the cannibal was moving in. When he felt the searing heat from the great mass of swirling fire resting in his palm begin to singe the hair on his cheek, he cocked his arm back for the throw.   
  
As the butcher finally managed to get back to her feet, the pyromancer’s great ball of flame crashed into her, enveloping her in its hellish vortex with explosive power. A hoarse cry rang out for a split second, then the black silhouette of the barbaric woman thrashed and flailed about, eventually throwing herself back into the filth of Blighttown in a final attempt to douse the blistering flames.   
  
Laurentius watched. The waters bubbled. She did not get back up.   
  
_Thank Lady Izalith._   
  
After taking a deep breath, the pyromancer’s eyes moved to his ally. She seemed to have found her flask and was in the process of re-attaching it to her belt, testing her eyes with harsh blinks. With that reassurance, Laurentius turned to find his other companions wading through the swamp toward them. Both knights were breathing heavily, Solaire with punctures in the mail on his chest, and the pair of them with an awkward limp.   
  
“Good,” the Astoran said between breaths, “Good. Let’s...get out of this swamp and return to the bonfire.”   
  
Lautrec and Azur were already on their way, sloshing tiredly through the filth.   
______________________   
  
After they arrived, the four simply dropped to the ground about the bonfire, catching their breath and allowing the warmth to soothe them. Clearly they were all thinking the same thing, because almost simultaneously, they took the humanity sprites they’d won in hand and consumed them. Laurentius sighed with relief at the sensation of his body returning to a living state, muscles loosening and breath coming more easily.   
  
Solaire and Lautrec removed their helmets to run their hands through their sweaty, mussed hair, dirt smudged around their eyes and running in rivulets down their temples.   
  
_Huh,_ Laurentius was struck with a realization, _I haven’t actually seen their faces before._   
  
Solaire had decidedly Astoran features; golden hair cropped close to his head, a strong jaw and slightly crooked nose that looked as if it’d been broken before, his eyes a friendly slate-green. He had slightly darker a complexion than the average Astoran, but anyone who knew him knew of his obsession with the sun.   
  
Lautrec, on the other hand, was very pale, with straight black tresses that came to just above his shoulders. His high cheekbones and long, narrow nose exuded the aura of a proud Carim noble. His most striking feature, one that many considered uncharacteristic of Carim’s people, was the startling light blue of his eyes. Like ice, with nearly no true color to them.   
  
Azur had unraveled the scarf about her head, using the portion that was still clean to wipe the remains of the muck from her face. Her skin was the darkest of the group, like she had spent much time under the scorching desert sun, broken by the white seam of an occasional scar. She had a rather angular face, and the familiar umber eyes framed with short waves of wild black hair.     
  
It felt to the pyromancer as if the world was suddenly silent and still, but the quiet after a hard fight was always that way. He leaned back against the wall, eyes flitting to each of his companions. They may not all agree on many things, nor even think of one another as friends, but the companionable silence as they rested together was one of the greatest comforts to be had in Lordran.   
  
“...You know, Easterner,” Lautrec said quietly, sounding shockingly relaxed, “I am rather impressed. Standing above your enemy after chasing her down, readying a final blow, only to be slapped square in the face with the shit and rot that’s been stewing in the swamp out there? I don’t know that I could have endured it _and_ followed through on my cut.”   
  
“I am not certain I do not regret it myself.” Azur sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You do not know how it _stung_ . I almost wished the spider witch would destroy me then.”   
  
Solaire chuckled darkly at that, tapping a finger against the full-faced helmet sitting in his lap, “That _is_ what we wear these for, friend.”   
  
Azur rubbed her eye, but gave him a small grin, “I shall invest in a new one.”   
  
“Something happen to your old one?” Laurentius asked, brow furrowing slightly. It was a bit odd that she’d been missing it during their trip into Blighttown.   
  
“It was lost in a fight with some...holy men? What do you call them?” Azur replied, staring fixedly into the bonfire.   
  
“What, clerics?” Lautrec sounded simultaneously confused and entertained, “What were you doing that got you into trouble with the Way of White?”   
  
Azur’s eyes flickered with something Laurentius couldn’t identify, but she waved him off. “Nothing of importance. Minor dispute.”   
  
The Carim knight snorted, but said nothing further. The pyromancer raised a brow. Solaire hummed, fingers tapping his helm absently.   
  
“Well,” The Astoran started with a sigh, “I suppose we should discuss our new approach, seeing as our last attempt at getting to the bell ended quite messily.”   
  
Laurentius cringed, “I...apologise, I let the excitement get to my head and behaved rashly.”   
  
“Well then,” Lautrec droned, eyebrows raised, “Come to your senses, have you? We _cannot_ approach that demoness in the same manner again, unless we wish for a repeat of that _shameful_ execution.”   
  
Anxiety and alarm flared in the pyromancer’s chest, his tone reflecting it, “We _cannot_ attempt to bring her any harm, I will _not_ allow-”   
  
“No. It is clear we cannot afford violent tactics.” Azur cut him off, her voice calm and level, easing Laurentius’ nerves. “However, the witch does not seem very interested in our plight.”   
  
Solaire hummed thoughtfully, staring hard into the fire for a moment. “There must be some other way...” He sighed, shutting his eyes momentarily, then looked at each of them, “For now, shall we search that mound for an alternate entrance? We can’t simply lie about moping forever.”   
  
“I suppose that’s _a_ plan of action…” Lautrec grumbled, clearly less than pleased.   
  
Azur had finished tying a fresh piece of cloth about her face that she’d taken out of the larger pouch on her belt. Her old one was left in a pile on the floor as she stood.   
  
_I’m only glad they’ve decided against an assault._ Laurentius was quick to stand with the others and follow.   
  
Their retreading of the swamp was more tiresome, but far less eventful. Every so often a monstrous winged insect flew too close and was swatted into the muck, and the appearances of a few of the horrific man-spider mutations made the trek more miserable, but there was nothing to significantly slow their progress.   
  
As they drew close to the great white mound that was the entrance to Quelaag’s lair, Laurentius abruptly heard the buzzing sounds of a large insect alarmingly close to his back. He spun on it, hand flying out, a flaming burst of combustion carried with it. The insect plopped, blacked and hissing, into the swamp waters.   
  
Before he turned back to his companions, the startled pyromancer searched the area for any further threats. Oddly, his eye caught something very different at a greater distance.   
  
On an island of solid earth raised above the toxic waters, surrounding one of the great, stone support pillars, a dark figure sat huddled in its shadow. It appeared to be hooded and cloaked, staring steadily in their direction.   
  
The back of Laurentius’ neck prickled. The strangest thing about it was that as he watched, not even the blood-puking insects would stray anywhere _near_ the figure.

 

 _But why do I feel so drawn…_  
  
“Something the matter?” Solaire’s query broke the pyromancer’s trance, but he did not tear his eyes away.   
  
“There’s someone there.” He gestured toward the cloaked figure even as he began taking careful steps toward it, “Do you not see it?”   
  
“I...see nothing.” The Astoran sounded puzzled and concerned.   
  
“Wonderful. The fumes have finally gone to his head.” Lautrec growled beneath his helm.   
  
Azur said nothing, keeping stride with Laurentius instead as she narrowed her searching eyes in the direction he’d pointed.   
  
The Carim knight sounded increasingly impatient and displeased, “Why are we entertaining his delusion? We have a goal-”   
  
“If he is correct, we may have more opponents to deal with, Ser Lautrec.” Azur replied sharply, eyes focusing ahead on the search for such opponents, “I would rather eliminate the possibility.”   
  
“Yes,” Lautrec sneered, “Then once we are done pissing away our time on this paranoia-induced fool’s errand, we can trudge back through this eye-watering filth having accomplished _nothing_.”   
  
“I would greatly prefer _that_ to a repeat of the ambush we fought off earlier.” Solaire said sensibly, “Come now, we’ll be back to seeking our true goal in less time than it takes for us to finish discussing this.”   
  
The Carim knight sighed heavily at that, but the party fell silent.   
  
There was no doubt in Laurentius’ mind that the figure was as real as it appeared to him, and as he drew closer, memories of his historical study of pyromancy resurfaced. One story in particular struck him that moment, concerning the teacher of Salaman, Master Pyromancer. The woman, a daughter of Izalith, was said to have fled her homeland when the Flame of Chaos consumed it, after which she created pyromancy, bringing the gift to humanity.   
  
_Is it possible?_ Laurentius considered, holding a tense breath.   
  
His group drew close enough to set foot on the island, and at that proximity Laurentius made a new observation. The figure’s black robes had a golden hem, faded and torn though they were. He recognized them as those that were described in his teachings to have been worn a thousand years previous, by the Witch and her Daughters.   
  
She- for she appeared to be a woman- still only watched them, making no movement to stand or flee.   
  
Though he was certain the others gave him strange looks, Laurentius stepped up to the robed woman and sucked in a deep breath.   
  
“I-uhm, my lady, are you…” He stuttered, nerves and disbelief clutching at his tongue.   
  
“Ah.” The woman said, as if his clumsy attempts at speaking to her confirmed something, “You _can_ see me. Though it does not seem your companions possess the same gift.” She inclined her head pointedly toward the baffled trio of knights at Laurentius’ back. “I suppose it is rather unusual, for an undead.”   
  
Confused, Laurentius’ gaze flickered toward the knights and back to the woman seated calmly on the ground. He opened his mouth again to speak, unsure of what to say, but was quickly interrupted.   
  
“Regardless, it is quite discourteous of me to keep myself obscured from them. They probably think you mad.” She sounded amused at the prospect.   
  
The pyromancer hadn’t the time to form a response before she made an odd, subtle gesture with a hand. He wouldn’t have known it had any effect whatsoever had his companions not suddenly voiced their alarm behind him.   
  
While Azur quietly exclaimed something in her foreign tongue, Solaire simply stared at the scene in surprise. Lautrec expressed himself more directly.   
  
“Who- What manner of sorcery was that? There was no-” He was verging on shouting, but seemed to realize it quickly and lower his voice, “Not even the faintest _suggestion_ of a presence, how-”  
  
“I am Quelana, of Izalith.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice, “You must have some dire wish to be fulfilled, to have journeyed this far into so dangerous a region.” Her head turned back to Laurentius, “Perhaps, for you, that lies with my pyromancy?”   
  
Excitement exploded in Laurentius’ chest and behind his eyes, but he didn’t much care to contain himself.   
  
“I can hardly believe you’re- and I can’t _believe_ we’ve run into you! I would love _nothing_ more than to be personally tutored by _the Mother of the art!_ Ah, except to delve into the ancient city of Lost Izalith, I think…do you perhaps know if we’re on the right track? It should be just below, to my knowledge, but-”   
  
She cut him off. “Your knowledge is accurate. There are not many ways through which to approach Izalith, however. It was one of the benefits of its location during the war with...well, that was long ago.” Her tone had turned melancholic, carrying markedly less energy with it.  
  
_Have I offended her? I must have gotten lost to my enthusiasm and...foolish of me, foolish._ Laurentius scolded himself, _I only just promised myself I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Reign it back, you fool._  
  
“In order to reach it you shall have to get past my dear sister.” Quelana continued, “I am not certain whether you are yet familiar with her, but she will not respond well to such an attempt.”  
  
Lautrec snorted derisively at this, “Yes, we’ve discovered how ‘not well’ her response is to visitors such as ourselves. She provided us a warm reception in the form of a spout of magma.”  
  
Laurentius gritted his teeth, _If I could slap him beneath that ridiculous face-plate..._  
  
“I see.” Quelana sighed, the sound carrying with it an exhaustion that felt aeons deep.   
  
A spike of guilt surged through Laurentius’ chest.   
  
“I may have provoked her by saying something foolish, my lady. She didn’t attack until I...well...got carried away and...perhaps brought up painful memories.” He fumbled to explain.   
  
“No,” Quelana said softly, “Quelaag harbors an unreasonable amount of hatred toward humanity, only partially justified by the damage many of its members have inflicted upon our family. Still, the blame for that _should_ lie largely on the Lords above, not on the easily impressionable humankind.”   
  
“...I apologise if I am being rude,” Azur interjected, a hint of caution coloring her words, “But can this not be discussed with your sister? You seem to know her well. Perhaps this can all be concluded peaceably.”   
  
_That is a good question,_ Laurentius considered as he turned back to Quelana, _Was their disagreement so intense that she now refuses even to try?_  
  
“Conceivably it could have,” Quelana replied, “if she and the remainder of my family had not been engulfed by a twisted power they could not hope to contain, and transformed into mindless beasts. I have not seen my family since. I do not know that I could ever face them again.” Her voice cracked on the final word.   
  
Laurentius’ eyes widened with surprise. _Mindless beasts?! How could she say such a thing about her own family? As if they aren’t slandered enough by their detractors._  
  
“My lady, these are your sisters and brother, your mother you’re speaking so harshly of.” He shakily replied, attempting to regain his bearings, “What cause could you have to speak of them so?”  
  
“You misunderstand, ” She said, meeting Laurentius’ eyes from beneath her black cowl. They were dark, swimming with old, raw emotion. “Mother was powerful indeed, but her attempt to create a Flame of her own was... misguided at best. The Flame of Chaos is, by nature, uncontrollable. I tried to warn them, but they did not heed me.” Quelana’s tone was deeply troubled, yet wistful, “They have paid for their recklessness with the greatest calamity in the history of Izalith.”  
  
The conversation was taking an alarmingly strange turn. Laurentius knew that not all historical accounts were entirely accurate, even when matched with other sources. But it wasn’t a disputed fact that Izalith was a great, thriving civilization in its time. It existed for millenia, had developed its own language, culture, and social structure.  There was no evidence to suggest the Witch hadn’t been perfectly capable of controlling the Chaos Flame, and _must_ have done so for thousands of years until whatever it was that caused her to finally lose her hold on it.   
  
“I do apologise my lady, but that doesn’t sound right.” Laurentius said with little thought. Curiosity gleamed in Quelana’s sorrowful gaze at the, admittedly, rather blunt statement.   
  
“I- I mean,” He began again, trying to clarify himself, “The Lady Izalith had an excellent grasp on the Chaos when it was first brought into being, and for millennia afterward. The...the fact that so great a civilization existed at all is evidence of that.”   
  
Quelana shut her eyes a moment, sighing tiredly. Laurentius fought back the guilt welling up within him, hoping for clarity.   
  
“I understand that you greatly admire my family. It must be a considerable shock to discover such harsh truths concerning them.” She paused, her brow furrowing gently before she continued, “But you must understand, they've lost themselves. The notion that they, wise as they were, could not have predicted it...it’s absurd. My mother may have kept an iron grip over the Chaos for millennia, but the very _moment_ she became mildly distracted it nearly annihilated Izalith entirely. It twisted the bodies and souls of my siblings...Our dear mother has become a parasite-ridden _tree_ without a mind or will to speak of anymore.”   
  
Laurentius knew he was treading on dangerous territory, but he could not stand idle while the creator of pyromancy as he knew it, a figure he’d long greatly admired, slandered her family and home.   
  
So he continued, hesitant, yet determined.   
  
“When...we saw the Lady Quelaag,” He started, carefully considering his choice of words, “I prostrated myself before her, and she stopped advancing to listen to my plea. She didn’t emerge only to charge at us like some rabid beast. My companions can attest to that,” He gestured towards the knights.   
  
Solaire nodded, “She did seem to be quite in control of her faculties. In fact, when our good friend here finished one...well, potentially offending remark, her countenance had become noticeably displeased.”  
  
“And only _then_ was he swallowed by molten rock.” Lautrec snorted.   


Quelana seemed to consider this, head turned so that her features were obscured by her black cowl.   
  
“This world is crumbling.” Azur stated, tone grim but imploring, “The way you speak of your family, there is surely still love between you. Is that worth abandoning in these times?”   
  
“You don’t understand!” Quelana hissed, as though an old wound had been jostled, “Mother is completely lost...our brother lives in constant anguish. I lack the strength to confront them myself but...a swift death would be the greatest mercy for them, now. The truest way to show my love.”   
  
_I’d heard the Witch had gone completely mad, but I didn’t want to believe it._ Laurentius’ mind raced with implications. He thought about the den in which Quelaag awaited, the mere _entrance_ to Izalith. _Maybe...maybe that bit is true._   
  
“Please, my lady,” He said, with as much calm as he could muster, “Even if the rest of your family is lost, I don’t believe Lady Quelaag is. If...if she is still sane, neither of you are alone in that.”   
  
“Ahem,” Lautrec cleared his throat and took a slight step forward, instantly increasing Laurentius’ anxiety. The pyromancer shot him a look, but Lautrec waved him off.   
  
“Perhaps we could come to a more mutual agreement.” He said, his raspy voice taking a surprisingly humble tone. He paused a moment to be certain he had Quelana’s attention, then continued, “If you are able to convince your sister to grant us safe passage to the bell, should we come upon your mother or brother afterwards, and they are as mindless as you say, we will make a concerted effort to slay them quickly and painlessly.”     
  
At that Laurentius cringed, but before he could think of a way to smooth over Lautrec’s somewhat tactless proposition, Quelana let out a great sigh. A tense silence settled over them, the air thick with the clamour of busied minds. A moment passed, then another, stretched agonisingly by the pyromancer’s nerves.   
  
Until at last, she stood. Laurentius noticed that her feet were bare.   
  
“Leave me.” She said coldly.   
  
The others glanced at one another, unsure.   
  
_I should at least apologise,_ The pyromancer thought, opening his mouth to do so before, yet again, being cut off.   
  
“ _Go.”_ Quelana’s tone brooked no argument.   
  
A hand gripped his shoulder, and he turned to see the green of Solaire’s eyes peering at him through the sights of his helm. Just beyond the Astoran’s green-fluffed shoulder, Laurentius could see both Azur and Lautrec’s backs to them, wading off through the muck again.   
  
He sighed, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat at his latest failure, and stepped around Solaire to follow them.   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm still working on this. Not dead. Yet. 
> 
> Sorry about the literal year-late update, been a lot going on in my life. Like I said, this fic is unlikely to be dead until...well, until I say it is. Hope you nerds enjoy. 
> 
> Thanks as usual to my friend and beta-reader Leider Hosen for the help.


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